


The Shapes of Things

by puella_peanut



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Kindergarten & Pre-school, F/M, M/M, Multi, Parent-Child Relationship, Post-Divorce, Single Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 12:31:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8285968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puella_peanut/pseuds/puella_peanut
Summary: In which "almost eleven year old" Ludwig Beilschmidt narrates how his divorced dad Gilbert and his former kindergarten teacher Mr. Edelstein, came to be a couple over the course of one year in his life.





	

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: guys, i wrote this when i was 12. i wanna improve it in some parts that desperately need it, but i'm a lazy arse, so who knows when that'll happen?? my tumblr is linked on my profile if you wanna hit me up

Sometimes I remember that Father's real name is Roderich Edelstein and that he was my teacher for a year. And that he's not  _really_  my real father. No, my real father is Daddy.  
  
Confusing, right?  
  
Wait till you hear I have a Mama as well! And that she was married to Daddy once upon a time when I was real little (I am 'most eleven now) but then their marriage kinda "broke". I didn't really understand the why's and how's of that part at that time, but I still 'member that Daddy took me to the park the day after Mama left and he pushed me high, high on the swing and told me not to worry, because Mama and him still loved me and we were still family.  
  
His face got all scrunchy then, like he was going to cry. I asked Daddy if he was okay and he told me he just had allergies - I didn't really buy it. But Daddy gave me a piggy-back all the way home despite the snow and we had strawberry ice-cream out of the tub after our microwave spaghetti o's. It almost felt like New Year’s Eve, sitting up with Daddy on the couch in pajamas, watching cartoons real late. But of course it wasn't, because Daddy never looked so sad and worried at the holidays. He never made so many grown-up faces.  
  
We fell asleep on the couch; the TV was like a lullaby and the ice-cream melted swirls into the cushions.  
  
(When Father came home that first time, he complained that his pants smelled of strawberries. Daddy smiled.)

 

Mama came by ages later (Daddy reminded me it was only two weeks since she left, but grown-ups don't know  _anything_  'bout time or how long it hangs in our hearts.) She hugged me real tight, said how much she had missed me. I felt happy and sad; Mama was home but she wasn't  _really_  home.  
  
I think Daddy felt the same because he just stood by the door watching us and it looked like his mouth was confused between a smile and a frown.  
  
...But Mama smelled like daises. I breathed her in, I never wanted to let her go.

 

For the next month, Mama visited on and off, like a light bulb. When she came it was bright; when she left...it wasn't exactly dark, but it was different. More dim. Harder to see where you were going; harder to know what was waiting for you in the shadows.

Whenever Mama came, she and Daddy talked and talked and  _talked_  in the family room; back then, I never knew grown-ups could sit so long and speak so much. Even though I was not allowed to be there - no, _I_ was always exiled to the far-reaches of the backyard. So I sat on the tire swing and kicked at slush with my boots. I even peeked through the window once or twice, but the talking stayed inside and my ears stayed outside.  
  
If I think real hard, go hunting deep in my head for all the sharp memories that poke; the things I remember most about Mama and Daddy when they were together is the silence. Not the big, long silences that stretch over hours and days. But the little silences; the buffering between the speeches, the commas between the words. I remembered that even when Mama and Daddy weren't speaking to each other, the quiet between their silences still battled.  
  
When I remembered watching them through the window one day much later on near the end, I thought that maybe Mama and Daddy had broken apart because they had always been two shapes that didn't fit together to make a whole.

 

In time, I would come to think that maybe marriage was like a jigsaw puzzle for grown-ups. And Mama and Daddy had been all the wrong pieces for it.

 

When Daddy tucked me into bed some weeks later, one night after Mama had left, he told me Mama and he had talked about a lot of things. I was sleepy, but there were sentences that stood up tall in my head when he spoke. I couldn't look over them, they were too high. He sat at the end of my bed and it squeaked; I waited.  
  
First, Daddy said that he and Mama were going to look into kindergartens for me to attend that upcoming fall. In his own words, I was getting to be a big boy ('most grown up I supposed) and I was old enough to start learning things properly. This was okay by me, even though I already knew I wanted to be a car-fixer just like Daddy was when I grew up. He also mentioned boring stuff like "finances", "getting the house in order" and not "living on TV dinners and spaghetti o's" anymore like we had done for the past couple months since Mama had left in January - what a way to start the New Year! But my stomach and I understood the last one on a spiritual level; we had agreed that we were more than a little tired of Kid Cuisine and Chef Boyardee.  
  
Daddy also told me that Mama was going to go back to college, to finish learning about something called art-history and get her "batch-errors degree", whatever that was, because she didn't want to work in the diner forever. So from what I understood then, this "art-history" was something along the lines of looking at a lot of paintings from different times in history and finding out what they meant. It didn't sound interesting to me when there were things out there like being a car-fixer, but if Mama wanted to do that, then I was going to be supportive.  
  
"Alright, Ludwig?"  
  
"Okie-dokie, Daddy."  
  
Then he told me the tallest word of all: that he and Mama were getting a  _d-i-v-o-r-c-e._  This word was tall. This word was wide and heavy and I couldn't look around it or lift it up. A d-i-v-o-r-c-e meant that their marriage was over, that Mama was not going to live at home with us anymore, that she wouldn't be there every day with her morning smile and daisy smell and comforting, indescribable  _Mama-ness._  
  
So I cried then, because I never knew a little word with seven letters could mean so many big things. I never knew that seven alphabets could weigh so heavy, like anchors in my heart. Daddy wrapped me in his arms. He told me it was okay, _shuush Luddie,_  now don't be sad. But then Daddy got his scrunchy face again and as I held onto him, I thought that maybe what my Daddy was really allergic to was sadness.  
  
I think that runs in our family, the way water runs from our eyes when we cry.  
  
Before he left, Daddy held me for a long, long time. My nightlight printed fish on our skin and blue on our faces and starfish on the walls; it was kind of like being goldfish in a bowl.  
  
"Ludwig, I'm so sorry," Daddy whispered. He sounded like he had a cough in his mouth and a cold in his heart.  
  
" 'bout what, Daddy?" My stuffy eyelids were like curtains that wanted to close. His hand held onto mine and I held onto Mr. Sharky. We were a chain reaction of feelings.  
  
"Everything. I...it...it's all my fault. All of it."  
  
I didn't understand then and I don't understand now.

 

That whole entire summer I went to summer daycare at Saint Benedict's even though we weren't Catholic. Or anything holy. I asked Daddy 'bout this. He said the daycare was free, the priest was understanding and the moms who volunteered there were kind. That I'd like it. (I think Daddy liked the "free" part best of all.) That would be the first summer that Mama wouldn't be staying at home with me until she left for the diner in the afternoon after Daddy got home; I tried to close my mind to the fact, but the thought still trickled in all sad, like rain through a holey umbrella.  
  
Every morning Daddy and I took the bus down to the church. I got the window seat - he got the tummy-sickness. I thought it was funny that my Daddy who worked with cars would get sick on buses (he didn't agree much). But we took the bus anyway because it stretched the gas out longer in the pickup and, like Daddy said, it killed two birds with one stone: he'd leave me at the church and walk just a few blocks down to the shop, all on the fare of one bus ticket as I wasn't old enough to count.  _Hmmf._  
  
(And I never  _did_  see those two birds being killed with one stone, even though I looked real hard.)  
  
At church, I always ran past the open doors of the big room with all the seats because I didn't like to see marble-Jesus hurting on his cross at the end and the smell of the "in-cents" from the candles burned my nose. Sometimes however, during lunch, the moms took us into that big room where there would be people practicing on some days. Their voices rose up-up-up and rose low-low-low. Some of the saint-statues wobbled.  
  
The moms said they were a "cry-or" and they sang at Sunday Mass. I wouldn't know, I hadn't ever been to one. I told one of the moms so, because Mama always said honesty was the best policy. (Even though she looked at Daddy when she said that, not me.)  
  
Anyway, the mom I told this to sighed (this response was typical when I mentioned offhandedly I wasn't Catholic) - but she said that the Sunday Mass was worth attending, Catholic or not, because of the man who played the organ at the ten o'clock service.  
  
"Does he play good?" I thought it was nice to ask this; she had an asking kind of face on and from my experience, grown-ups like to have their questions, both spoken or not, answered or at least acknowledged. Makes them feel important, I suppose.  
  
She smiled and handed me my orange juice which made my peanut-butter and jelly go down bitter. "He plays  _real_  good."  
  
So I got used to our bus rides and my Monday-to-Friday's at Saint Benedict's. I got used to marble-Jesus dying on his cross and the "cry-or" practicing in the corner while the saints jiggled. I got used to their mistakes. I got used to their melodies. I got used to having lots of take-out because Daddy's cooking wasn't going too great.  
  
I almost got used to Mama not being there every day.

 

We were at the car-place, "the garage" where Daddy worked at, some Saturdays later. He was bent over a car that looked real broken in my opinion - but Daddy said it could be fixed, so I decided to take his word for it. Daddy rarely wore gloves when he worked and there was oil under his nails, wrapped around his knuckles and between the empty spaces of his fingers. Besides all that, the rest of him looked like it had been finger-painted in grease. Even his hair looked painted in, it was far blacker than metal-colored now. I observed him closely while he tinkered on and I suddenly realized that it took some skill to be a grown-up.  
  
"I wanna be like you when I grow up Daddy," Sometimes I blurted out things like that. Mama used to call it "with childish abandon."  
  
Daddy looked up from the hood, startled. He had that look on, like a lot of expressions were fighting to win a battle on his face. It resulted in a tie - he looked both pleased and unhappy.  
  
He reached over and thumbed my cheek, like he used to thumb Mama's long, long ago. The grease was warm on my skin like affection.  
  
"Just be like me right side up, okay? You'll save yourself a lot of trouble later on, kiddo." He pulled out a wrench from the back pocket of his overalls and went back to fixing the car.  
  
Grown-ups say the darnedest of things, I tell you.

 

When the end of August came, Mama and I went to Wal-mart to pick up my school supplies. I liked the way that sounded -  _school supplies_. In my mouth the words tasted like growing up and the start of new things.  
  
Of course Mama started off with the boring stuff first like all moms tend to do - some play-clothes for me, since my other clothes were too good and I was always getting so scruffy. "Just like your Daddy," Mama shook her head at a t-shirt with frogs on it. Then she laughed and it made me happy that she was happy. She made me try on all the clothes and we bought bigger sizes in everything because I grew so fast.  
  
Mama had brought the school-list with her and said that we were going to do our best to fill it out from high to low. I think we won in the end, because hours later we left the store with red stars of completion marching down the page and our cart packed like Santa's sleigh. It felt like Christmas in August. It felt good.  
  
Mama dropped me off home after she took me to get my hair trimmed at the  _Supercuts: Back-to-School Special!_  because she was still on the lookout for an a-part-ment (she had been staying with Pawpaw and Grammy). Inside, Daddy looked through all the things I had got. He high-fived me when I showed him my Star Wars pencils, stickers, backpack, lunchbox and, most importantly, a thermos shaped like Chewbacca.  
  
"He was my favorite too," Daddy admitted. He cut the tags off everything and put all the clothes away in the chest of drawers (Mama would have put them in the laundry first). He brought all the lunch-stuff to the kitchen to be washed later and then he ladled out stew which actually smelled edible while I set the table. (Much later, I heard Daddy tell Father that we had practically lived on warmed-over Campbells soup in those difficult times.)  
  
"I met your teacher today Ludwig," Daddy began when we sat down. My grilled cheese sandwich had glued my teeth together. I washed it down with milk. "Is she nice, Daddy?" I asked.  
  
_"She?"_  
  
"Well...the teachers at the church were all moms so," I tried to explain how I thought all the teachers of the world were females and moms. At that time, I had had limited exposure to the world of learning and institutions of scholastic advancement. Teaches/females/moms were an inseparable trio to my unexposed mind.  
  
Daddy took a long sip of his beer - I think his teeth were glued together as well. "Well...Mr. Edelstein certainly isn't a girl, Luddie. And he's going to be your teacher for the next school-year."  
  
I was only half paying attention - I had more important things on my mind, like looking at all my Star Wars things again. I chewed and digested several pieces of corn and celery. "Is Mr. Edelstein nice?"  
  
Daddy took another long sip before answering me; I think the cheese was not agreeing with his teeth.  
  
"Oh...yes.  _Very."_  
  
Later, I would remember those three words.

 

The last night before school Daddy and me played hide and seek (to tire me out, he said) after an early dinner (meatloaf and creamed peas... _yuck_ )! It had been an anxious sort of evening; Daddy seemed out-of-sorts and I  _hated_  the fact that my bedtime was now reduced to 7:45 - that is, 7:45 teeth brushed, story read, all tucked in with Mr. Sharky.  
  
But the game worked to smooth down our ruffled tempers much as an iron worked to ease the wrinkles from our clothes and I hid under blankets while Daddy hunted me down.  
  
"Ready or not Luddie, here I come!"  
  
Here I come, ready or not.

 

I remember certain things more than others about my first day of school, mainly because they refuse to stay quiet in my head. They speak even when not spoken to.  
  
Daddy didn't wear his work overalls for that first day but I wore mine; the blue corduroy ones with Thomas-the-train on the front. I liked my shoes best though; my sneakers actually  _lit up_ when I stepped! (I made sure to step a lot.) But Daddy looked like he worked in one of those skyscraper buildings downtown, because he wore a suit and slacks and seemed generally uncomfortable; he kept adjusting his collar and squeaking in his shiny-shoes that he hadn't worn since Granddaddy's funeral. I observed him and I found that I liked my Daddy best when he was dressed as himself.  
  
He took a picture of me by the front door before we left. "For your Mama," he said. Him too I guess, since a copy now sits homed in a frame on the top of the second-hand and  _perfect_  cherry-wood piano that Daddy got as a gift when Father moved in.  
  
We didn't take the bus, since the kindergarten could be reached in a 15 minute walk and we let the September morning blossom cool and cheerful on our skins. Daddy held my hand the whole way like I was going to slip through the cracks in the sidewalk - first day parent jitters and all that I guess.  
  
We approached Acorn Academy (there was not an acorn in sight) and were immediately absorbed into a cluster of parents, children and a few teachers; Daddy broke away from the congealment and we marched straight up the front steps to the kindergarten section on the first floor. Room 2, Class B.  Daddy opened the door and we stepped inside to a bright room of color and shape and sound. I felt like Dorothy when she was greeted by the wonders of a Technicolor OZ.  
  
The room was thick with children,  _thick._  They were everywhere; in seats, on and under desks, hanging off the walls - alright, I exaggerate. But there were a lot of children. Grown-ups stood tall and pointy and awkward, like overgrown blades of grass and didn't seem to notice us, being preoccupied with their spawn. One grown-up in particular however, looked our way when we entered. The right one of course - in more ways than one. He made his way to us, parting the children like Moses parted the Red Sea. (The priest had told us that story at daycare - I rather liked it.)  
  
And Daddy was right.  
  
Mr. Edelstein definitely  _wasn't_  a girl. My new teacher had a thin face, a thin body (Daddy was muscly) and he wore glasses and a calm expression, as if immune to the madness surrounding him. I found that impressive.  
  
"Mr. Beilschmidt," he smiled and held out a thin hand, "So nice to see you again." And the phrase didn't sound canned - it sounded fresh, like he had actually meant it. "And this must be Ludwig," He held out a hand to me as well. I don't recall any other grown-up treating me in such a dignified way. I was pleased and returned the gesture, though I was hidden halfway behind Daddy's leg. Sometimes shyness crept up on me, like a surprise attack.  
  
"He gets like that, sometimes," Daddy reiterated my thoughts out loud. He kept looking at my teacher like his eyes had been super-glued on him. Perhaps they were.  
  
"That's quite all right," Mr. Edelstein said softly, "He seems like a well behaved boy." He leaned in closer to my Daddy, dropping his voice like a secret, "Between you and me, that's rather a relief." His eyes, blue as the violets in our backyard behind the frames, suggested the target of his mild statement when they found a little yellow-haired boy with glasses who had not stopped running around the room since we had arrived. His father, who held the hyper-boy's much quieter twin in his arms, looked like he was about to have a heart attack right then and there.  
  
"...But for every Alfred, there is a Matthew. And a Ludwig too, I can see." He smiled down at me and did  _not_  ruffle my hair. That was nice too. "Thank you for bringing yourself with him, several of the parents just dropped their children off at the front gates." He did seem pleased that Daddy had come and stayed. I beamed behind my Daddy's leg, happy with his good-parent-behavior.  
  
"No, no...it was no problem. My work...uh, the school is on my way to work, so, so I just take the bus the rest of the way...um. Yup." I had no idea why Daddy was so nervous, why there were so many spaces between his words. But Mr. Edelstein simply nodded politely and his eyes found the clock on the far side of the wall. I suppose it made sense to him (I could not read time; I only felt its effects), because he blinked suddenly and said hurriedly,  
  
"It's almost eight o' clock, I have to get everyone in order." I looked around me the same way Daddy did - we both were surprised that almost all the parents had left. The hyper-boy Alfred, had now intensified to spazzing on the floor while his twin sucked his thumb, watching him.  
  
Mr. Edelstein left to go attend to him and Daddy knelt down before me, his eyes finally becoming unstuck from my teacher. "Now Luddie," Daddy began, in the parent-voice reserved for first days of school, proms and other important milestones on the road of growing up.  
  
"Daddy I  _kn-ow_." He had already gone through the motions of first-day parental detachment over breakfast. Mama did hers over the phone with all the sniffs included. But it was almost time to start school. I was eager, I was  _ready._  
  
So Daddy just sighed, hugged me and kissed my forehead, reminding me not to forget my hoodie when I took the school-bus home later. "You have my seal of approval, Ludwig," Daddy said solemnly before he left, "that you're all set to start kindergarten." He and I poked our noses together as was our parting way and he left.  
  
From outside the door, he couldn't resist looking in one last time. At that time, I thought it was me he was looking at.  
  
But I know better now.

 

During craft-time, a really tall boy named Ivan glued a lot of fuzzy balls on Alfred and Mr. Edelstein made Ivan sit in time out. When Alfred wouldn't stop making faces at him, Mr. Edelstein made him sit in time out too.  
  
_I_  didn't sit in time out  _once._

 

The more I went to kindergarten, the more I wondered why one had to wait five whole years of their life before being admitted to the pleasures of such a wonderful institution.  
  
We had storybook time and spelling time and working-on-our-reading time; we practiced our letters and sounded out words onto paper. We learned that nouns are naming words and that verbs show action. There was p.e some days and learning about places in America and the world. We had math, usually just before snack-time, where we would add, subtract and count in 10's to a hundred and beyond. There were word problems and figuring out things; arts-and-crafts and the basics of Spanish. Then there was lunch in the multi-purpose room and computer-time and a half-hour of recess where all the boys competed to see who had the biggest calluses from the monkey-bars and all the girls said we had cooties.  
  
On certain afternoons, we got to go out to the woody area behind the school or the community gardens nearby where we each had our own plant growing (mine was cabbage; Daddy joked that it was because all Germans loved sauerkraut). We collected spoils from our nature walks and distributed them in the science-room where we would identify plants and mushrooms and the various kinds of soil where worms and slimy things liked to hide.  
  
The mornings were the best in my opinion, because mornings meant music; mornings meant Mr. Edelstein playing the piano and trust me, you haven't heard a piano being played the way Mr. Edelstein plays a piano. It almost seemed a pity to clamor along with him on our borrowed school-instruments and sing off key that This Land Was Your Land and There Was an Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly.  
  
Daddy walked me to school every day; usually we ran into Mr. Edelstein at the gates and Daddy would always make sure to stop and say hi. (He  _never_  did that to other teachers or parents.) Mr. Edelstein and he would exchange pleasantries while I squirmed impatiently. But I couldn't help but notice that with each passing day of these meetings, Daddy tripped up over his own words less and less and  _less._  Practice makes perfect, I suppose.  
  
Then Mr. Edelstein would walk with me to the classroom. Daddy stayed outside the gates watching us go before he ran flat-out to catch his bus, spitting words I wasn't allowed to (he could 'cause he was afraid of missing his bus to work and he was full-grown). Always the double-standard with grown-ups, you know how that is.  
  
Anyway, I took the school-bus home every afternoon, where Daddy would be waiting for me to return by the stop sign. He'd piggy-back me to the door and then I'd have a snack and tell him of my day's adventures and he'd tell me about what he did at work. I was allowed to watch half-an-hour of TV and then if I had any homework, I had to do that first before going outside to play.  
  
So that's how we fell into a routine; by falling into comfort and stability with reassurance that the sections of the day were cut out and divided like pie, with no unplanned flavors to take you by surprise.  
  
And every night over supper, Daddy asked me about kindergarten.  
  
And every night over supper, Daddy asked me about Mr. Edelstein.

 

The first weekend of October, I spent Friday evening, Saturday and most of Sunday at Mama's small new a-part-ment near mid-town and her community college. She even had a roommate and I hid behind her leg when she introduced me to him.  
  
"Like, Liz, he's like -  _totally_  pre-ci-ous; look at those round little che-eks!" Her roommate had a lazy face, glitter on his nails and remains the only adult I know who divided words into unnecessary syllables. Our meeting was (thankfully) quick - the man was leaving to go "club-bing" with a "T-o-ris" whatever that was. (Mama told me he would be crashing at his friend's place, so I had her to myself for the rest of our time together.) This pleased me; I didn't wanna share my Mama-time with anyone else.  
  
After a bubble bath where Mama scrubbed my hair with her daisy shampoo, she cuddled me on the couch while I dried out and asked me all about kindergarten. I told her how I got a smiley-face on my paper and from Mr. Edelstein on Friday's spell-down. Mama was very pleased and she told me that  _she_  had got an A on her sculpting-in-the-middle-ages essay. Mama and I had done ourselves real proud that Friday.  
  
After dinner (we had Chinese from Wang's; take out seems to be catching in my family), Mama drove me to her college where we got out and she showed me around the outside of the buildings and where she had her classes. I made my fortune cookie last slow and long the whole way and I didn't tell Mama that I accidentally swallowed the little paper it was written on. I suppose my destiny remains lost in my tummy somewhere.  
  
"Did you know Luddie," Mama said as we drove back to her new home and sang along to 80's pop, "One of my professors has two children who attend your kindergarten. I didn't catch their names unfortunately, but my professor? He's originally from France and he brought the most  _divine_  chocolates to class today as a treat for us. I saved one for you!"  
  
So I had an imported French bon-bon in my mouth, Madonna songs in my ear and my Mama with me. Life was good.

 

"...and then we listened to Madonna and Mama and I sang all the songs!" Daddy had picked me up from Mama's place and we were driving back home. It was Sunday evening and the windows were rolled down to catch the crisp dregs of fall's early breeze.  
  
Daddy shook his head at the steering wheel and I think he was personally offended. "Your Mama  _always_  had bad taste in music, even when we were young. Now this,  _this_  is what I call real music!" He turned on the radio and out boomed the classic rock station.  
  
We rode home in our silver pick-up truck with Black Sabbath and the vocals of Ozzy Osbourne beating against our eardrums.

 

In every person’s life, there comes a dark period, an accumulation of sinister events; a stretch of shadow, a period of despair. Darkest hour before dawn and all the other fancy descriptions penned by a fancier hand than mine.  
  
My hour came on the 31st of October. Halloween night.  
  
And like all bad things, it started with Alfred and escalated with Ivan.  
  
(But really, it was my own fault.)

 

This would be the first year I was going to go trick-or-treating with a friend. Usually I went with Mama or Daddy, but this time I had been invited to go 'round the neighborhood collecting candy with Kiku - he was a quiet boy in my class who was  _obsessed_  with an old cartoon called Sailor Moon. (I didn't get the fuss to be honest, but Kiku was nice and I liked him so I kept my opinions to myself.)  
  
I was going as Chewbacca, which was the highlight of the night and possibly, my childhood. Daddy took a whole lot of pictures and roared with laughter, because he said I was "the coolest Chewbacca Han Solo never knew." Promptly at 6:30 (which thankfully put an end to the never ending pictures), the doorbell rang and Kiku and his cousin stood impatient on the doorstep, ready to get going.  
  
"Who are you supposed to be?" I said to Kiku as we observed with interest, each other’s get-ups.  
  
"Tuxedo Mask."  
  
"From the cartoon, right?"  
  
Kiku looked a little affronted even behind the mask. "Sailor Moon. Is an  _anime_."  
  
"Um, okay."  
  
Daddy finally let us go after several more pictures and reminding Kiku's older cousin who had volunteered as chaperone on this excursion, to have me home by 8:30. That didn't happen of course, because things never go as we plan them and I left my house utterly oblivious to how many hours it would be until I returned. Or how a certain scene later that night would set off a chain of interesting events, all involving my Daddy and Mr. Edelstein.  
  
Several neighborhoods later and a comfortable weight settling into our bags, I became aware that Kiku's cousin didn't want to spend his evening escorting two five year olds with insatiable sweet-tooths house to house. "It's bad enough I have to take you two brats around all these neighborhoods," Yao complained sourly, "but I have to do this science group project as well and I have the  _worst_  partners in the history of anything."  
  
Kiku shared juicy 5th grade gossip in my ear as we ran up to the next house, "My cousin isn't happy his partners are these two guys who hate each other’s guts," Kiku whispered as an old woman doled out candy apples (yay) and prune cookies (yuck). "They're always fighting about everything.” Kiku wrinkled his nose, his mask tripped on his face like a halo gone wrong, "One of them wears a hoodie and  _no one_  has ever seen his face and the other one  _always_  smells of cat-litter."  
  
"Weird and gross."  
  
So we carried on this way and the night passed quickly by before Yao decided he had had enough. I had to give him some credit - he had lasted almost two hours after all. In the middle of the cul-de-sac, he impatiently announced that it was 8:20, our bags were full, so our night was officially over and as we were on my home street, I could just walk back to my house.  
  
He dragged Kiku away without another word and I was left under a lonesome streetlamp with home six houses down and my mouth full of saltwater taffy.  
  
And if I had just started home right then and there, I still wonder how things would have turned out in the long run. But it was my greed that caused my downfall and it was my greed that made Daddy and Mr. Edelstein meet that night. Like many other things in life, it was a mixed bag.  
  
" _Hiyaaaa,_  Ludwig!"  
  
Gosh, it was Alfred. He came upon me as suddenly and as unpleasantly as a pimple. The longer I avoided him, the more he grew.  
  
"Uh...hi."  
  
He was dressed as Indiana Jones - I was more a Han Solo fan myself - and held two large jack-o-lanterns overflowing with candy. "What cha doin' standin' 'round here for?" Alfred asked, smacking gum. Either no one had told him it was rude to talk when one's mouth was full, or he just didn't care. Between you and me, it was probably the latter.  
  
"I'm going home -"  
  
Alfred grinned, his mouth stained a violent blue, like bruise colored lipstick. "I ditched Mattie 'cause he said he gots a tummy-ache and didn't wanna come with me to the bestest house  _ever._ "  
  
"Won't your parents be scar -"  
  
"- the house I'm talkin' 'bout," Alfred carried on fearlessly as he stuffed yet more candy in his mouth, "is giving out hot-chocolate and fried twinkies. I know, I was  _p'omised._ " I stopped dead in my attempts at being responsible. I looked at Alfred and I looked at my house just six boxes away. I had a weakness for fried twinkies. There were my Achilles heel, my chink in the armor. My downfall of that night.  
  
"I know _just where_ the house is too -" Alfred said casually, dropping this breadcrumb trail of information. My stomach overrode my sensibilities, followed along.  
  
I scowled,"...Okay,  _okay_  - but we've got to be fast," and that was mistake number one.  
  
Alfred hooted and I should have known then and there that I was doomed. "Fast is my middle name," he promised as we dashed away to find this mysterious house, "what else do you think the F stands for?"  
  
I thought the F could stand for many things, all of which weren't very polite. But I followed anyways.

 

I knew it was bad the moment we arrived. It had taken us a very long time to come to this unknown neighborhood and find the "twinkie house"...which, when we came upon it, was nearly missed because every light was off and there was not a single trick-or-treater on the street. The house was dead just like my dream of fried twinkies. I glared at Alfred about this, but he was too busy being confused to notice.  
  
"But...this is the right neighborhood _and_ the right mailbox number!" Alfred whined, clearly far more unhappy about there being no hot-chocolate and no twinkies to the very certain punishment he was going to be subject to once he got home. (He was grounded for a solid month - it was a beautiful, peaceful time in my childhood.)  
  
"And I was tolded this was the house to come to!" He stamped his boot on the ground; some of his candies spilled out of his jack-o-lanterns like rainbow wrapped stars. Constellations for the ants that would soon be feasting on it.  
  
" _Who_  told you, dummy?" I snapped, sick to death of this twinkiless adventure and painfully aware of the growing realization that my Daddy was _not_ going to be pleased when I returned.  
  
_"Me~"_  
  
Alfred and I did _not_ scream; we...only made a high pitched noise of surprise, because there stood Ivan in the moonlight - smiling in his creepy way and looking twice as threatening even in his stupid purple Care-bear costume. When or how he had morphed out of the darkness I still to this day do not know. Nor do I want to know.  
  
"You're so dumb Ivan," Alfred shouted, recovering with all the speed of a man who has nothing to lose. "You got the house wrong, you're _so dumb -"_  
  
"You beli-veded me, so that's _you_ four-eyes!"  
  
"Dummy!"  
  
"Four-eyes!"  
  
_"DUMMY!"  
  
"FOUR-EYES!"_  
  
I made my second mistake of the evening then. I saw then rushing to each other and I got in the middle and I'm not certain who did it, but my treat-bag was ripped from my hands, ripped to street - and all the candies went rolling away into the dark corners of the neighborhood and the potholes of the unfair world. I was horrified and I don't know what I would have done then if the porch light of the house hadn't suddenly come on and an unmistakably angry adult voice shouted with a bad word included,  
  
"What the  _fuck_  is going on out there?!" and we  _ran_  for it, which of course turned into mistake number three. (They were coming in quick succession now, as bad decisions have a tendency of doing.) Ivan and Alfred both disappeared somewhere, but all I cared about was putting as much distance between the angry grown-up and myself. Darkness, the blur of streetlamps and my sad lack of Halloween candy disoriented me and I quickly lost myself in the winding labyrinth of neighborhoods.  
  
And that is how I got lost and lost with a capital L. But that's also how I was found only a few moments later. I turned the corner of a neighborhood dotted with tall apartments I had never seen - so different from the long, flat house Daddy and me lived in! - my haste making me trip right at the curb of one; my costume tore at the knee and my knee tore against the gravel. I fell forward and -  
  
"Ludwig?"  
  
And there was  _Mr. Edelstein_ , standing with a handful of sheet-music, wearing gloves, a blazer and a completely bewildered expression and I had _never been_ so thankful to see an adult, to see _anyone_ in my life. I snuffled real hard all of a sudden and I think that must have been the magic action, because Mr. Edelstein immediately put down his music on the trunk of his car and gathered me to himself. I felt the buttons of his jacket, the leather of his gloves, the bones of his thin arms and the worry of his concern press against me. He smelled like pens and paper and reassuring things.

I didn't want to let go.  
  
"Ludwig, what on earth are you doing out so late and why are you all by yourself? Does your father know where you are?" he asked this all while he carried me, balancing me on his hip like a see-saw, while he shifted his keys between his fingers and picked up his sheet-music again as we hurried up two flights of stairs to his front-door. I sucked up tears and mucus and said _I gots lost_ to his first question, _I dunno_ to his second and _no_ to his third.  
  
He opened the door and set me down on his couch. He quickly deposited the other things and his gloves, pulled out a paper-towel from the convenient Bounty roll on the counter and wiped my face gently. "It's all right Ludwig," he said quietly, "you're alright now." He looked me over the way grown-ups do to see if you're in one piece and his eyes paused on my knee, leaning over me a bit for closer inspection.  
  
"That doesn't look too severe, so first things first; I'm going to call your father so he'll know where you are. Then we'll see to that knee of yours." I told him the number and he went to the kitchen area to call from a phone stuck to the wall; I fidgeted and tried not to sniff even though my knee was throbbing like fury. To ease my mind from my discomfort, I looked around me - I had never been in a teacher's home before. It took me off guard - I had expected it to look more well... _teachery_ , with lots of smart stuff everywhere - but it looked like any other boring house, except the bookshelf in the main room held no books, only a lot of music-y things and there was an ancient keyboard against the wall that looked like all the songs it played had worn it down to its plastic bones.  
  
Mr. Edelstein gave me some water and then made me sit still on the kitchen chair where he knelt before me, swabbing my knee with a brown liquid that stung something terrible. He covered up the scrape with a big bandage, plain and practical, not like the fun ones Daddy kept in the house. But my knee felt better and not a moment too soon either.  
  
There were frantic knocks like a rush of heart-attacks at the door. Daddy was here. I felt that my hour had come.  
  
Mr. Edelstein calmly opened the door. Daddy not-so-calmly rushed inside. " _Ludwig Beilschmidt!_ " I screwed up small in my chair; when my full name was used, I knew I was in for it. Daddy rushed up to me and I flinched, but he only picked me up and squashed me to his hard chest. "I was worried like hell," he pressed me even closer to himself and breathed in wobbles, his breath felt like jell-o against my face. "Do you even know what time it is?!" He answered his own question, waving his wrist watch in my face, forgetting that my time-telling aptitude was still rather shaky. "Ten past ten - that's  _over an hour_  from when you were supposed to be back." Anger was creeping into his voice now and he held me away from him before depositing me on the floor. I looked up; I had never realized how  _tall_  Daddy looked from my diminished line of view.  
  
That was an unfortunate time to realize that.  
  
But before Daddy could open his mouth again, my teacher cut in mildly, "...I think Ludwig's had quite the adventure tonight." Daddy turned around so quickly I thought he cricked his neck. Mr. Edelstein had been watching us and there was almost something like a grin fighting to lift the corners of his mouth that was pinning it down somberly. "I think he got lost...but he had the fortune to run into my neighborhood when I had just returned home. Alls well that ends well," he finished dryly.  
  
(That's Shakespeare - Father told me so later. He should know; it turned out to be true. All of it.)  
  
"Too right he was fortunate," Daddy muttered under his breath. He cleared his throat, ran a hand through his hair so that it wouldn't get too neat, "Mr. Edelstein -"  
  
"Roderich," my teacher said calmly. We both looked at him in surprise and his lips twitched. "My name is Roderich." And here I had been thinking that his name had been Mister. The more you know! "You don't have to call me Mr. Edelstein."  
  
"Okay... _Roderich_." My Daddy emphasized his name like it was written in cursive. Like he liked the taste of the syllables in his mouth. Like he wanted to say it again. "Roderich," (told you so), "call me Gilbert and well, it's a damn good thing Ludwig ran into you and not some other creep."  
  
"I assure you, I am not a...creep." Mr. Edelstein seemed amused rather than affronted.  
  
Daddy didn't apologize but he just smiled a slow smile. His eyes narrowed - Daddy looked like a sleepy cat I thought. "Oh...I agree." They stood there like that, kinda looking at each other. Again, I was reminded of super-glue and its marvelous ability to stick things together forever. But there wasn't any glue around - not that I knew of anyways.  
  
"...I think you should have my address and home number," Daddy quickly offered, "I...I've been meaning to give it to you...and now seems as good a time as ever. Just...just in case something like this ever happens again. Not that it _ever will_. _"_ He looked down at me sideways and I know the heavy part of his words were directed at me. I gulped, foreseeing punishment in my near-future. Mr. Edelstein went to get his address book and added our house and Daddy's number to his contact list. Daddy looked really happy at this - I supposed it was always nice to know where your child might be missing at. One step ahead of would be kidnappers and all that.  
  
"Have you been in this neighborhood long?" Daddy asked, adding Mr. Edelstein's apartment address and home number to a slip of paper as well. When we went home, he'd even add them to the big address book. _Just in case,_ you know.  
  
"No," Mr. Edelstein shook his head, "I moved here only several months ago when I got the position at Acorn. I'm from the east-coast actually, up north. Maine."  
  
"Must have been quite the change of scenery to land up here, in the middle-of-nowhere Kansas. People usually only stop by here on their way when driving through to get someplace better!"

"...Perhaps this is a someplace better for the right people, at the right time." Mr. Edelstein smiled softly; he had the type of smile that looked inwards rather than out, like he was laughing at an inside joke shared just with himself. Daddy sorta stuttered to a stop, I think his breath hitched up like it had been pulled up by a hook of... _something._ Catch of the day had reeled it in, apparently.

"But you're right...it _was_ something to get used to, but it has been smooth sailing - or driving I should say. Not much water to be found in these parts - which is fine by me, as I was never a fan of the sea, despite it being a constant companion. Especially the sand that got everywhere." Daddy chuckled at this. I hoped his improved mood would mean a lighter sentence for my misdeeds of the evening. But you can never tell with grown-ups and their strange ways. So _fickle._  
  
"And you? Have you always lived in Kansas?"  
  
"Oh yeah," Daddy drawled proudly, in the voice he always used when showing off his football trophies from high school regardless of whether people were interested in his glory days or not, "Mid-western man, born n' raised. Went to the local schools here all my life, then straight to the garage after high school graduation, though I'd been part timing there since my freshman year. Got so used to the feel of grease on my hands, I thought I'd make a profession of the tinker toy business."

Seeing Mr. Edelstein's polite look of inquiry, Daddy elaborated, "I'm a mechanic. Been one for a little over ten-ish years now. It's been a steady business; cars break down, I fix 'em up."  
  
"You must know fairly everything there is to know about the automobile industry," Mr. Edelstein looked impressed, Daddy looked pleased. He hesitated for the briefest of moments before pulling out his wallet from the back of his jeans and handing my teacher a small card that had a toothy-smiled, red car on it.  
  
"In case you uh, ever need some car-tech. Give you a discount and everythin'. American, Japanese, German; Tesla, to Toyota, to Trabant - I can work some magic with whatever, makes no difference to me." Daddy started off strong and faded into a mumble like he's run out of gas. He mussed the back of his hair again. His cheeks were kinda pink.  
  
"I'll...I'll keep you - _ah,_ your offer, that is, in mind." It seemed Mr. Edelstein tripped over his words too sometimes. He looked up at Daddy, "I -"  
  
But that I would be left dangling off the edge of an unknown sentence forever because,  
  
"- I _do_ hope I'm not interrupting anything?" All three of us jumped 'most out of our skins - I dunno how long she had been there, but Mama suddenly moved closer to where we stood. There was a funny expression on her face, like she was putting something together the rest of us hadn't even started to understand. "...I let myself in, your door was open and you didn't seem to hear me knock."  
  
Mr. Edelstein looked utterly confused at yet another unexpected person in his house. Daddy hastened to reply. "Er, sorry, but when Ludwig didn't turn up, I called his mother, she had to know and when you found him, I told her what had happened and well...here she is." He gestured to Mama and then my teacher and then back again. Mama must have driven really fast to be here so quick - I wondered if she had a ticket. "Elizabeta, this is Roderich - Mr. Edelstein. Roderich, this is Elizabeta."  
  
"Elizabeta as in, Gilbert's _ex_ -wife." Mama always was real honest; I appreciated that trait in her. Daddy mussed his hair again and it looked like a winter storm.  
  
My teacher and Mama shook hands after an awkward pause, before Mama turned on me with a rib-cracking hug and an immediate scolding of, " _Ludwig Beilschmidt_ , you are in big trouble young man!" Again with my full name - just hammering the fact home that punishment was, by this time, as inevitable as Anakin Skywalker turning into Darth Vader. I hope that wasn't a spoiler for you.  
  
So the evening finally ended with Mama and Daddy thanking Mr. Edelstein and apologizing profusely for "my bad behavior" (Alfred was  _such_  a bad influence on me). My teacher offered to make them coffee, hot-chocolate whatever they liked, but my Daddy seemed real antsy again now that Mama was here and said  _thanks, but we have to go_  and Mama joined Daddy and me outside where the moon was already high in the sky, like a flashlight in the night. I hadn't been up this late since Daddy and I fell asleep on the couch.  
  
Being sleepy from the night's events, I waddled ahead to Daddy's pickup and caught the tail-end of Mama saying something funny to Daddy as I boosted myself inside.  
  
"...couldn't take your  _eyes_  off him, Gil. And I can see why, he's as pretty as a picture -"  
  
_"Liz,"_  Daddy hissed back, glancing uncomfortably in my direction for some reason. He sounded like a snake. He sounded mortified. "It's _nothing,_ stop making such a fuss..."  
  
But I just sat in the back of the truck, wishing I had my candy and vowing never to speak to Ivan or Alfred ever again.

 

I was grounded for two weeks. No TV, no seeing my friends after school. Even my light-up sneakers stopped lighting up. It might come across as a trifle melodramatic, but to me, it was like my world was plunged into darkness. I passed the time trying to peel off the scab on my knee.  
  
(And Daddy reminded me every evening that if I wanted to do the crime, I had to pay the time. And boy, did I ever!)

 

But by mid-November, the sour taste of the entire escapade had worn away in light of the upcoming Thanksgiving play, Harvest Time. Okay, it wasn't  _really_  a play, rather a small reenactment of the first Thanksgiving, put on by both the kindergarten classes. So now craft-time had been merged with Room 1, Class A and we all moved to the multipurpose room and were devoted to sticking feathers on turkey's, piecing together pilgrim hats and Native headpieces, sticking buttons on plain black fabric and painting cardboard props and ourselves in the process.  
  
Music time we practiced the songs we would sing (my favorites were Pumpkins Please and What Did the Turkey Say to the Corn?) and recess was devoted to rehearsing the play itself. Practice took big bites out of my day and even when I went home, I went home bearing the remains of it like battle scars - from bits of glitter still stuck under my fingernails, to humming the songs (Daddy pointed out that I had unfortunately inherited his tone-deafness), to having strange dreams all involving candy-corn and pumpkins bent on world domination.  
  
I was going to be a squirrel in the play and my job was to hand chestnuts to everyone while making chattering noises. I took my role seriously. 

 _Seriously._  

I think Mr. Edelstein appreciated my utter devotion to my craft because he called me "a most dedicated child," and his mouth always twitched when my turn came on like it had been tickled. (Daddy however didn't appreciate my role as much - but I think that's because I kept climbing over the furniture at home and sometimes him too. Art must imitate life for authenticity, I guess.)  
  
So much of November passed in this way and that way and everything was going super-duper well.  
  
Until Daddy got sick that is.

 

Wednesday was a half-day, with Harvest Time the same evening in the auditorium. It would be the last day of school before Thanksgiving break and everyone felt all "holiday-y" already.  
  
But that Tuesday morning, I knew something was wrong.  
  
Daddy hadn't been feeling his best since the previous evening, spending every other minute sniffling and coughing and he decided he was going to skip work on Tuesday. He had called the garage first, to tell them he was taking the day off. Next he dialed Mrs. Honda, asking if she wouldn't mind picking me up and taking me to school that day with Kiku before she left to work. I liked Kiku's mom, but somehow I missed walking with Daddy to school that morning - I hadn't not walked with him to school since the start of kindergarten. It was a habit I was sorry to find myself breaking.  
  
I'm  _pos-i-tive_  Mr. Edelstein missed seeing Daddy too because he came up to the gate after Kiku's mom dropped us off and I swear he looked like Christmas had been cancelled.  
  
"Ludwig," Mr. Edelstein asked quietly after Kiku ran up the front steps, Sailor Moon lunchbox swinging madly, "Is everything alright? Your father usually drops you off, so I, I wondered..."  
  
I itched the back of my ear - I had forgotten to scrub behind there this morning and the remains of last night still clung to my skin. I would inspect that grossness later _for sure._ "Daddy said he was feeling sick and he kept blowing his nose like a trumpet Mr. Edelstein and he couldn't come today and he didn't go to work and everything s'okay, okay?" I almost believed that everything was okay too. Mr. Edelstein didn't seem to, however.  
  
"He must have been feeling quite under the weather if he stayed home from work," Mr. Edelstein sounded a little alarmed. I didn't know anything about sickness except that chicken soup and grape flavored medicine _(yuck)_ was involved somewhere and somehow in the healing process, so I didn't know what to say. He rested his hands on his knees, bending closer to me, almost frowning "Are you certain that Gil - um, your father will be alright?"  
  
I felt real sorry for him and I wanted to reassure him that Daddy wasn't dead  _yet_ , but all that came out was, "Yes sir," - two little words that had never been more wrong. Mr. Edelstein looked just like a deflating balloon but we hurried on inside just as the first bells rang nonetheless, before we got a tardy slip. The rest of the day passed in more practice than ever and I felt increasingly nasty as the hours went on, like I was all clogged up and didn't have a plunger on hand.  
  
(When school ended that day, I got on the bus home after sniffling up the leaky bits of my suddenly runny nose and I felt Mr. Edelstein watching me from behind the gate.)  
  
It wasn't a good-feeling evening and it ended with me officially falling sick as well. Ugh.  
  
And early Wednesday morning, Daddy called the school and told them I wasn't going to be attending that day. Whatever Daddy had, it had spread to me and I spent the next several hours in bed, humidifier on, blankets pulled up and horrible dosages of Dimetapp shoved down my throat. (My crying over the fact that I wouldn't be taking part in the play later that day had left me with an even heavier case of the sniffles with a headache accompanying it.)  
  
Daddy kept on saying he was going to call Mama as soon as she got out of school, but I think he forgot 'cause he just lay on the couch under a lot of blankets, surrounded by small mountains of tissues and brooded hard. We had chicken-noodle soup, that magical accompaniment to illness from our favorite benefactor, Campbells, and remained completely and utterly miserable. It didn't feel like the day before Thanksgiving. It didn't feel much of anything. The house was dead silent except for our clogged noses punctuating the quiet as if to say,  _Yes, We're Sick and It's Horrible!_  
  
Promptly at six o' clock, there was a knock on our door. Not like the heart-attack knocks Daddy had pounded against Mr. Edelstein's door, but soft, shy almost. If there is such a thing as embarrassed knocking,  _this_  would be what it sounded like. I was now cooped up in the family room broiling under a lot of blankets with Mr. Sharky and It's the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown! on TV, so poor Daddy shuffled to the door, unlocked the latch and snapped,  _what the actual hell do you want?!_  in a really croaky voice before seeing who was outside.  
  
It was my teacher.  
  
Mr. Edelstein looked incredibly uncomfortable and Daddy had the grace to look incredibly embarrassed. There was a lot of  _incredibly_  going on, let me tell you.  
  
"...L...Ludwig told me you were sick yesterday and when he didn't come to school today I knew it hadn't got any better, so I just thought I could bring you some home-made stew..." Daddy looked down; my teacher had brought a large bag which held a pot of something that smelled like everything tasty known to mankind and then some.  
  
"I, I apologize if I came at the wrong time, there were so many last minute things to do at school because of the play, I've only just managed to get away for a few moments and I have to hurry back." Mr. Edelstein's car was still running in the driveway and he certainly looked as if he'd hurried here when I peeked from behind the cushions, because his usually neat hair looked like it was trying to part ways with his head, his checkered scarf was more off than on and his nose were red from cold, like winter had rudely bitten it.  
  
...Not as red as my Daddy's nose though. (Between you and me, Daddy wasn't really lookin' his best.) And I think he realized it the same time Mr. Edelstein did, because Daddy quickly ran his hands through his hair which needed to be washed, blinked the crusty parts away from his eyes and smoothed down his yellow bathrobe. He tried to look more awake and failed.  
  
"Sorry to disturb you," Mr. Edelstein sounded more like he was sorry he had come, "I, I'll just leave this here with you if you want it and -" He had already held the bag out halfway to Daddy when Daddy caught him, actually  _caught him_  'round the wrist before he could complete what he was saying. Mr. Edelstein was surprised, I was surprised, the stew was probably surprised - it seemed the only one who didn't share in the surprise was Daddy. When he spoke, he sounded like he was making a big effort to get his words out as clearly as possible.  
  
"Thanks for coming over, Roderich. I -  _we,_  appreciate it a lot and -"  
  
"- It's a stew." My teacher reeled off frantically, cutting him off short, "Wild rice with stuffed sausage and diced roast-chicken and assorted vegetables - carrots, tomatoes, corn, onion - with spiced seasoning, two cheeses on a meat-based broth and I brought some of my home-made crackers as well," Mr. Edelstein was practically turning into a rambling cook book before our eyes. The heat from the bag was making his glasses steam, his cheeks turn pink, then pinker. He looked a little over-cooked, if you ask me. Like boiled ham.  
  
"That...that sounds pretty awesome," and I had to agree with Daddy. Mr. Edelstein was still holding onto the bag, Daddy was still holding on to Mr. Edelstein's wrist. My teacher let him for 'bout two seconds longer, I  _counted.  
_  
"Here, you'd better take the stew." He handed the bag to Daddy chest and Daddy accepted it. The wrist was dropped in the exchange.  
  
Mr. Edelstein looked a little dazed, I'm sure the hot from the pot had got to him, 'cause he had  _all_  the symptoms of heat stroke. "I'd...better go now. The play and all that." If I hadn't known better, I would have thought my teacher wanted to stay. Daddy didn't look too keen on his leaving either and he frowned.  
  
"Yeah. The play. Of...of course. Sure." Daddy stood there holding the bag, a drip shivering unpleasantly at the end of his nose before it vanished with a mighty sniff. Mr. Edelstein couldn't seem to decide if he wanted his hands in his coat pockets or not and kept poking them in and out like a jack-in-the-box.  
  
"...We're going to enjoy this, Luddie and me." Daddy finally said after a weird space that was filled with nothing. Like a black hole or the stockings of bad kids on Christmas.  
  
Mr. Edelstein managed a small smile, still fidgeting with his pockets. "Tell Ludwig we all missed him at school today...and that we'll miss his squirrel very much at the play this evening. I got Berwald from the first class to replace him, but we'll all miss Ludwig's performance. Berwald can be a little...stoic."  
  
"I'll let him know, Roderich," I still picture Daddy looking down at him holding the bag tight and Mr. Edelstein's glasses fogging up like the windshield of a car. I was getting bombarded by secondhand awkwardness from both of them.  
  
"Well...goodbye. Get...get better soon, Gilbert. And, and Ludwig of course." Mr. Edelstein looked a little confused and he hurried down the driveway. Can't blame him, I was kinda confused as well and I didn't even know why. But Daddy stood and watched him, watched him until his car drove out of sight, then he shut the door. I think he sighed before speaking again.  
  
"This looks incredible. We'll have some now, Luddie." And Daddy hurried away to the kitchen where he was gone for so long a time I thought he died. When he returned, he came back empty handed. I had to remind him about the stew and crackers. (Which, when we finally ate it, was super tasty by the way and we both had multiple servings.)  
  
Daddy and I slept late that night and we missed the Macys Day Thanksgiving Parade the next morning which was a little sad. But I was all better by one, so Mama came over earlier then was planned and took me away to her parents’ house about an hour or so away, so I wouldn't get sick staying with Daddy. She offered to come back later to check up on him, but Daddy said no, no, it was okay. So I spent the rest of Thanksgiving break with Mama and my grandparents, getting stuffed full of sweets and nearly getting trampled during Black Friday shopping as well. Daddy was finally feeling much better by Sunday.

When I came home Sunday night, Daddy told me there was some stew if I was hungry, because Mr. Edelstein had dropped by  _again_  on Friday with some more. Mama overheard him telling me this and she looked for a long, long time at Daddy before she kissed me goodbye like an afterthought and left.

 

At school, Kiku told me the play had gone good. Everyone remembered their lines and the grown-ups had clapped and given them all what was called "a standing oh-vay-shin" whatever that was, when it was all over. And they had laughed only a little bit when one of the background panels had fallen down and made Marie jump.  
  
"And everyone thought the songs Mr. Edelstein had wroted out for us were really good," Kiku added as we shared his muffin and my cookie. "My dad said they were really catchy and my dad doesn't even  _like_  music. Wish you could have been there."  
  
Me too.

 

"Luddie, what do you think about Mr. Edelstein?" Daddy and I were at the car-shop the next Saturday after the Thanksgiving weekend. I sat on the hood of a blue car which looked sad because its front was falling off like a frown. I handed Daddy a wrench from the box when he slid out from under the car who was "sick as a dog," according to him. Daddy wore dirty overalls and a contemplative expression. He really needed a shower, in my opinion.  
  
"I like him lots, I  _tolded_  you."  
  
Daddy pushed up an eyebrow so that it crinkled his forehead like an accordion. "Like him lots? That's quite the emphasis for you, little man. How so?"  
  
I wasn't sure how to answer this. "Um," I tried, but I was still working on it. So I countered.  
  
"Do  _you_  like him Daddy?"  
  
He slid under the car again like it was a race, like he had to hide before he got caught red handed or something. But then he said,  
  
_"Yeah,"_  though at that time I didn't realize how far the ripples of that one little word had reached.

 

I tried to write out my letter to Santa at Mama's before bedtime but the page remained bare and blank. Her roommate had given me pink paper and a sparkly green pen and then sighed over the fact that the ink was the color of "T-o-ris' big ey-es!" Then his face scrunched up and he hurried to his room where I heard continued noises like a trumpet. Mama shook her head, saying that he was going through a "rocky relationship" at the moment. I felt sorry for whoever this T-o-ris was, but I kept that to myself.  
  
"Do you have any idea what you want Santa to bring you, Ludwig?" Mama smiled down at me while I sat thinking hard at her kitchen table. Besides all the regulars of a real lightsaber and a dog and having my own car, I didn't know.  
  
"Well, if you aren't certain..." Mama's voice got all whispery and she bent down close to me. I felt the beginnings of a secret tingling on my skin like anticipation and the nice Mama-smell of daisies in December in my nose. "...I think you should tell Santa to bring your Daddy what  _he_  really wants for Christmas."  
  
I looked at her, dumbfounded. Grown-ups were just so strange sometimes, why couldn't they just say what they meant? It would save them so much trouble; then they wouldn't keep doing things backwards! "But...whats he want, Mama?"  
  
But she just grinned and thumbed my chin and said, "Ask him, Luddie!" In the background, the trumpet-noises from her roommate's bedroom intensified and Mama hurried to check on him.  
  
And I still didn't know what _I_  wanted for Christmas.

 

"Daddy, Mama said to ask you what you wanted for Christmas so I can tell Santa to bring it for you, 'kay?" I said that first thing on Sunday night when I got into the pickup. Mama waved goodbye to us from her door before shivering back inside. The heater was on in the car and Little Saint Nick by the Beach Boys was jammin' on the Christmas station. Daddy had on his old leather jacket and we both wore the reindeer-wool caps with the red pom-pom Mama had knitted for us one Christmas. We looked real festive; we made the car look like a holiday.  
  
Anyway, I thought Daddy would look really happy about the question, but all he looked was red, then redder. His face looked like Rudolph's nose. It didn't help that that song had started playing on the radio as well.  
  
"Liz...your Mama," Daddy began, sounding more embarrassed than angry, "shouldn't...shouldn't assume things." Daddy trailed off to himself I think and it was hard to catch what he was saying, because of the hoof-noises from the song but I heard him mutter, "...if anything, I don't need Santa or Eliza to bring me what I can get  _myself_." My mouth made an O shape.  
  
"So you DO know what you want Daddy!" I piped up happily, bouncing in my seat. "Tell me, tell me!"  
  
He didn't of course, but I can tell you that Rudolph's red nose had nothin' on my Daddy's red face!

 

Our tree had already been put up (Mama had come over to help and she and Daddy argued over having a star or angel on the top - we settled on a blob of tinsel since the other two were broken), I had already mailed my letter to Santa (yet another year of hopelessly asking for a dog) and we had our first snow of the season before Daddy and me went to the mall for our Christmas shopping. We had already picked up a couple things (Daddy wouldn't share what was in an interesting shaped bag he held) before a funny suggestion came my way.  
  
"I think we should get something for Roder - uh, your teacher, Mr. Edelstein, Luddie." We were in the Hallmark store, looking at cards and other small gifts. I looked at my Daddy but he was suddenly really interested in looking at some fancy mugs that said 50% OFF in bold. Sales can be quite addicting, you know.  
  
"Okie-dokie, but...why?"  
  
"Well-it-would-be-nice-to-get-him-something-for-all-the-stew-he-cooked-for-us-right?" He said this all really fast and in one breath. I didn't mind; I was getting used to my Daddy's strange mood swings. I think he was going through a phase.  
  
 "He made stew for you most of all," I reminded and Daddy's mouth quivered like jell-o; he was pleased. He must've really liked all that stew.  
  
"Still, he  _is_  your teacher so let's get him something nice regardless." I nodded, but I had the feeling you get when you miss a step when going down the stairs - like I was missing something. Silver Bells had changed to Christmas Wrapping before Daddy spoke up again.  
  
"...And it's not only that, Ludwig." Daddy had the kind of face on one got when they get caught with their hand in the cookie jar. (I should know about such things.) "Your teacher...has invited us to go to Saint Benedict's. The church from summer, remember?"  
  
I tiled my head, thinking this was  _by far_  the weirdest thing of all. Why a  _church_? But then I thought, "Is the rest of the class gonna be there?" Like a field trip or something with a lot of prayer and marble-Jesus hanging there on his cross. Daddy shook his head. "Only you and me, kiddo. Special invite, first class."  
  
I could feel the cogs in my head working furiously. There was something out of focus in the back of my head which was becoming clearer all the time. When I 'membered, I blurted out, "The mom when I went for daycare, she said there was a man who played the organ for Sunday service and he was real good!"  
  
Daddy grinned, "Bingo. Mr. Edelstein called me, asking if we'd like to come, since there was going to be a Christmas concert before the church...uh, service, started. I thought it would be nice to go, since we've nothing else planned." Daddy's eyes wanted me to say yes, his voice did too.  
  
I thought it was nice too and said yes, but I didn't get why my teacher didn't ask anyone else to come. I didn't get a lot of things, those days. So we spent the rest of the time looking in that store and I thought we would have to go someplace else before Daddy stopped in front of a shelf at the back that we had missed the first two times we'd walked 'round. He pointed, "Look Ludwig," and I did. "Think your teacher will like that?"  
  
I had to stand on my tiptoes to see properly, but when I did I thought there was nothing more perfect for my teacher in the world. Daddy agreed and we left the store with a small little gift wrapped in silver paper and tied with a bow as white as snow.

 

I hadn't been back at Saint Benedict's since that summer, so the main room of the church unwrapped itself before my eyes like a present. There was red and green and crème and gold everywhere, from the streamers looping around, to the shiny ornaments hanging from the rafters above, to the big silver bows at the end of every pew. There was even a house put up near the altar (Daddy whispered it was called a Nativity Scene) and the large angel hanging above it held tinsel in its hands. There were poinsettias around the altar and even marble-Jesus on his cross looked festive hanging between two sparkling Christmas trees. It was like walking into an oversized snow globe, without the snow and the shaking.  
  
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Mr. Edelstein met us at the pew near the back, close to the heavy doors. He was wearing long cherry-red robes with a white collar like the other members of the choir (Daddy had corrected me on the pronunciation) and I thought he sorta looked like the angel on top of the tree minus the halo and wings and saintly expression. Okay  _okay,_  he didn't look like an angel but his robes  _did_  look comfy. If you got to wear a snuggie for joining a choir, then sign me right up!  
  
"It is," Daddy agreed, but he wasn't exactly looking at the display when he said it. "We're glad to have come, Ludwig and I,"  
  
"As I am glad to have you," We all exchanged Merry Christmases a little awkwardly. Mr. Edelstein held his sheet-music close to his chest and looked up at Daddy, adjusting his glasses, "I don't mean for you to stay for service as I know you're not religious, but the music starts very soon and we'll be playing until five to midnight...so if you like it, please stay until then."  
  
"Don't plan on missing it," Daddy said all smooth like butter and my teacher smiled before looking around. "I do enjoy playing here even though I am not Catholic -"  
  
"- you're not?" Daddy interrupted. He sounded almost eager at this slip of information. I'm not sure why, 'cause Daddy never paid much attention to anything holy and only cared about religion when the Pope died.  
  
"No," Mr. Edelstein answered, "Not particularly religious either," (Daddy looked really relieved at this), "...but I saw the flyers posted around town when I first came to this town and saw that they wanted someone to play at their services...and as they had an actual pipe organ, I couldn't turn them down. And well, I am a firm believer that music is music regardless of where it is played or its genre."  
  
Daddy grinned at this, "Spoken like a true music lover. Only," he added on quickly, " _don't_  you tell me you like Madonna,"  
  
"...I prefer classical but well, her songs  _are_  quite catchy," My teacher admitted and Daddy just shook his head murmuring gloomily, "well, you can't have it all." Beyond us, the choir were steadily grouping together and warming up with high la-la-la's and low la-la-la's; the violins and cellos were being tuned, the harp plucked like a Christmas duck. I saw trumpets and even a little silver triangle being set up. More and more people were settling into the pews around us, many dressed up like movie stars.  
  
"I'd better go," Mr. Edelstein finally said, "I have to warm up with them -"  
  
"Roderich." Daddy had pulled out the present from his blazer pocket. My teacher looked at it, then at my Daddy, then back at it again. "Just...just a little something. For the stew. For this. F-for you."  
  
My teacher quickly placed his music on a helpful pew and took the box gently from my Daddy's outstretched hand.  
  
"Open it," Daddy urged and I nodded alongside. "Yeahh, Mr. Edelstein, open it up!" And he did, untying the ribbon and carefully unwrapping the paper where it had been taped at the sides. He lifted the lid off the box inside and pulled out his gift.  
  
With all the lights from the candles and the trees and the church itself, the clear music-box that rested in his hand glimmered like a snowflake, like ice. It wasn't really a box though - what it was, was a palm-sized piano made of glass. It was totally see through, so you could see all the parts that made the music play fully on the inside. There was a tiny glass crank on the side of the attached bench. Mr. Edelstein turned it and we all three leaned in.  
  
Under the warm-ups and the chatter, there was a pretty melody tinkling from the little piano. I listened, enchanted. When the crank turned, it caught the light like a falling star.  
  
My teacher looked up slowly when the notes came to an end, his eyes pausing long at both of us, but Daddy the longest. "Thank you. It...it's beautiful, it really is. Gilbert. Ludwig. I do thank you but...how?"  
  
"How?" Daddy prompted. He tilted his head to the side, watching my teacher. His eyes crinkled at the corners and I knew my Daddy was happy.  
  
"Moonlight Sonata. First movement. Beethoven." My teacher explained, naming a bunch of things I didn't know the who, what, when or why of. My musical knowledge was pretty much limited to the Top 40 in America, 80's pop and classic rock. "My favorite piece."  
  
"I don't know much 'bout classical music," Daddy admitted with an unrepentant shrug, "but we, Ludwig and I, just happened to like the look and sound of it. Lucky pick and all that you know?"  
  
"Yes it was," my teacher agreed softly. "Yes it is." His fingertips ran lightly on the top of the piano before he carefully put it back in the box and grabbed the bow and all the wrapping as well. He was a very spic-and-span kinda person (after all when he moved in with us later, he's the one who always keeps things clean and complains about Daddy being a  _total slob_ ). Someone on the microphone called out sounding seriously annoyed for Roderich Edelstein to please come to the choir and he quickly picked up his sheet-music.  
  
Daddy winked, "knock it out of the park now." Like this was a game. On second hand, maybe it was in a way, to them. Who can say what goes on in the inner workings of a grown-ups mind?  
  
"I'll do my best then," My teacher wished us Merry Christmas again and hurried away, glancing back one more time. Then he took his place at the pipe organ and some minutes later, the first of the Christmas carols began.  
  
So I could tell you a lot 'bout that music, how it filled up the church, the seats and ourselves from head to toe. How the choir sang page after page, how the instruments accompanied them without missing a beat. Or how that pipe organ had most prob'ly never been played like it was that night. But all I'll say is that Daddy and I sat there for almost two hours, mesmerized like we had never been and when we finally left before the mass could start at midnight, Silent Night followed us all down to the car and played us all the way home and lulled us to sleep that night.  
  
And it was a beautiful Christmas Eve.  
  
And then it ended.

 

Something was rotten in the state of Beilschmidt.  
  
Okay okay, so things weren't exactly "rotten" that Christmas Break, but it was a catchy way of getting your attention, right? However there was something in our home in the days following Christmas that felt off, all out of tune. Like missing lyrics to a song, or taking the wrong exit on the highway. Like you'd got off on the wrong side of the bed. Everyone - that is, Daddy, seemed out of sorts. He started at small noises and supplied snappy one word answers and his frown stayed on so often that I thought it had permanently on joined as an addition to his face.  
  
Mama spent New Year’s Eve with us and that's when we first heard that she had been accepted to Kansas State University as a transfer student for the upcoming Spring Semester. Daddy hardly seemed like he was listening and when I tried to get his attention, Mama told me gently to "let him be." We, that is, Mama and me counted down with the TV to the New Year and cheered with the fireworks in faraway Times Square - but for Daddy, next year started off not with a bang but with a whimper and he seemed more than a little annoyed when Mama blew the horn in his ear and said playfully to "cheer up buttercup!"  
  
Outside on New Year’s Day, I pushed away the snow of the driveway so Kiku and I could bounce around on my new pogo-stick (not  _quite_  a dog, but not a bad haul at all) but even that lost its novelty after we fought over whose turn it was to jump. By that time of course, even the tree had turned brown, the Christmas cookies stale and temperatures dropped outside and inside. I spent the rest of the day as out of sorts as my Daddy, sulking around the house. I thought about how Mama would be leaving later on that month and got real gloomy - I don't know what Daddy was thinking of, but the gloom shared between us was like a rain cloud over our heads. I even had to sit in time out later when I gave in to a temper tantrum and after that was done, we just sat and brooded and had gross leftovers for supper. Some way to start the New Year!  
  
Looking back, it was like we...like Daddy especially, was waiting for something that never came.

 

Mr. Edelstein asked me how my Christmas and New Year’s was the first day back at school as he helped me unbutton the frozen buttons of my puffy green coat. He hadn't met us at the gate as usual and Daddy had gone to work looking like he'd swallowed a lemon, only his expression was twice as sour.  
  
I told my teacher the holidays had been fun...for a while that is and then it had got all weird. He looked up in surprise from shuffling papers behind his desk, "How so, Ludwig?"  
  
"Weeell," I said seriously picking at a wooly blob on my mittens, "I think Daddy was kinda sad and I dunno why.  _Maaaybe,_ " I drawled, a new thought coming into my head, "he was sad that he didn't get what he wanted for Christmas. Did  _you_  gets what you wanted for Christmas, Mr. Edelstein?" But Mr. Edelstein just nervously thumbed through pages of Good Job! apple stickers and upcoming book fair catalogues and didn't answer me, which I thought was a little rude.  
  
I went back to my seat and thought privately that end-of-holiday gloom had spread everywhere like the flu and infected everyone horribly.

 

A few days later, Daddy came to my room before bedtime and showed me and Mr. Sharky where Mama would be going on the state map, yet another reminder that she was going away - things like this had kept cropping up all over the place like weeds as of late. I was already missing her and she hadn't even left yet. Daddy pointed to our state of Kansas smack dab in the middle of America like its heart; to Wichita near the bottom where we lived and then to Manhattan, Kansas tucked up and away in a faraway corner where I had never been.  
  
"That's where your Mama's going Luddie," he explained. I didn't say anything. I had only recently got entirely used to Mama not being there every day, but now she was going (what seemed to me) a thousand million billion miles away. It was like she might as well be on another planet in a galaxy far, far away. I wished with all my heart that Kansas State could be in Wichita, right 'round the corner when I turned on the edges of the street so I could see her just as I always did. She'd be right there when I wanted her and when she wanted me.  
  
I tried to hide my sniff, but I think Daddy heard, because he climbed in next to me and pulled me into his arms. His legs dangled way over the edge of my bed and the blankets only went up to his shins - I saw striped socks with one of his toes poking out.  
  
In secret confidence in my room with only Mr. Sharky in the know, Daddy said that this was a big opportunity for Mama who had had me real young; barely out of high school, even 'fore they had got married in the court. (I had, all this time, being under the impression that the stork only brought babies to people who were married but Daddy said he'd tell me more on that subject some other time.) So college had been put on hold and Mama had gone back to her job at the diner and stayed on until I had been born, (all 9 pounds and four ounces of me). She'd gone back a couple months afterwards because we'd needed the money bad; all the regulars loved her, everyone knew her and always asked "for Lizzie."  
  
Daddy thought she had been happy. But she hadn't been.  
  
"Is that why you gots divorced, Daddy?" I hiccupped tearfully and Daddy's arms tightened as if trying to squeeze the sadness from me like toothpaste.  
  
"No, Luddie. That was...that was all my fault. Your Mama and I were so young when we had you, she eighteen and I barely a year older and I...I hadn't really known myself back then." I didn't know what he meant, but he didn't elaborate, so the spot light remained on Mama and he remained backstage.  
  
"So try and understand, Ludwig," Daddy whispered kindly as he pulled up my covers over both of us, "You're my big boy, going to be six this year. I know you can understand how your Mama feels." And I did,  _I did_. But just because you understand something, doesn't make it easier to bear. In fact, I think it makes it harder because you now have the knowledge of why's and how's and when's and what's - and all those things just pile up on you, weighing you down like an anchor. Your mind says yes when your heart says no.  
  
I fell asleep in Daddy's arms and I dreamed of Mama.

 

She left a week or so later, one Saturday morning.  
  
Daddy and me had driven over on Friday evening right after school and helped her put the finishing touches on her packing - Daddy had even given her car a look over. Her apartment had been sold, her roommate had moved out and the whole place looked the way I felt - sad and echoing, with far too much empty space inside. Around nine we were all done and Mama's stuff stood lined up by the door all ready to be packed into her car the next day. I tried not to look at them, but just like anything we try to avoid, I still couldn't help but notice anyway.  
  
We ordered a late dinner and all three of us sat up watching Mama's favorite movie  _ever_ , The Sound of Music. Mama sniffed dreamily as the opening music played to a backdrop of a faraway country that looked like a fairytale out of my picture books and sighed about how much she just loved Austria. (Daddy rolled his eyes and mimed gagging - Mama elbowed him and told him to shush.)  
  
I stuck to her like a magnet as Maria started singing that the hills were alive. I was squeezing every last drop out of the time that I spent with Mama; I wanted to hold on to every piece of my Mama for as long as possible before she went away. I was afraid that if I let go, Mama was going to seep through the gaps of my fingers like the string of a kite that wanted to fly. I remember thinking to myself that I supposed some things in life only become more valuable when there is a danger of them being taken away from us. The longer we have them, the more important they are.  
  
Daddy and I ended up sleeping over and all three of us, tired out with packing, fell asleep on the couch under an old Hello Kitty blanket that smelled of daisies.  
  
It was still dark outside when Daddy loaded Mama's car up with all her belongings the next morning. Sleep still clung to my eyes like cobwebs and yawns threatened to dislocate my jaw but I held onto Mama's gloved hand for as long as possible. Everything was packed, the apartment dark and the car running and set to go. We stood shivering outside and I tried not to, I  _did_  - but my eyes filled up and threatened to spill over anyways. Daddy shuffled over to Mama.  
  
"See you, Liz," Daddy hesitated, but he gave Mama a hug, leaning down and kissing her cheek. Mama's eyes were all shimmery like mine, but she didn't look sad even though her smile trembled and she kept sniffing. But she stood up on her tippy-toes in her boots and whispered something in Daddy's ear that made me  _really_  curious, since it turned his face all red in the headlights.  
  
"You take care now, Gil." And then Mama turned to me.  
  
If there are different types of hugs for different occasions, then the one Mama gave me was for goodbyes. Because it was long and tight like it didn't want to let go, even though it had to. It held onto you, stayed with you long after the arms went away; it was the type of hug that lasted, that remained even when the person didn't. It was a memory in the making, that hug.  
  
My eyes felt heavy, my heart heavier still - even though I blinked real hard and swallowed my sadness down. I told Mama I would miss her lots and lots (which was true). And of course I told her I wanted her to go (which was true... _ish_ ). And I think Mama understood all the things I didn't say, because she smiled all gentle down at me even though all she said was,  
  
"...My little boy is growing up to be a fine young man," and she dropped a kiss onto my head, holding me close one more time before she got into her car and drove away, leaving Daddy and me watching - waving and waving until her car became a dot in the new sun.  
  
And I guess I was. I guess I am.

 

At school on Monday, all the children received a note-to-take-home about the upcoming parent-teacher meeting. The note had been signed in Mr. Edelstein's loopy cursive which I could hardly read. It was formally addressed to Mr. Beilschmidt, requesting a meeting that Saturday. When I showed this to Daddy at home, his mood went from cheerful to sour faster than you could say "conference."  
  
I thought at that time, that the note had had a bad effect on him. I was halfway right - it had an effect but it wasn't exactly bad...

 

The parent-teacher meeting was the first event of the second half of the school year and this, more than anything, took Mama's leaving off my mind. (Well, crumbs were left behind.) It was near the end of January by now; everyone was grouchy, irritable and dead sick of winter, including myself.  
  
"I _hate_  January," I whined as we entered the school, "It's the worstest month of the whole entire year."  
  
"That's why I was born in it," Daddy said distractedly. He pulled me along through the nearly empty corridors of the school until we reached the staff room. We were the last people on the schedule that day to meet my teacher - or rather, Daddy was.  
  
My usual babysitter had come down with strep throat and as no one had been available to take over on such short notice, Daddy had to take me along with him like some sort of whiny accessory. I said I could stay at home by myself, but Daddy had just snorted rudely at this suggestion. I saw Alfred and Matthew's daddy shuffle out right before us; he nodded at my Daddy and me, his huge eyebrows wiggling like caterpillars. He looked exhausted - but considering he was Alfred's daddy, that wasn't surprising. I hoped Alfred got a bad report - no, I still hadn't forgiven him for the Halloween incident.  
  
But Daddy hardly noticed. He had seemed weird the entire walk here, like his body was there but his mind had taken the day off. He made me sit on the waiting bench outside the room, left his leather jacket by me and gave me a dollar saying I could get anything I liked from the vending machine if I got bored waiting. "And above all, Ludwig," Daddy said, all stern suddenly, "do  _not_  come inside."  
  
"But I wanna see my teacher!" I protested, not consoled by the crisp dollar in my hand.  
  
"You can see him some other time,"  
  
"But -"  
  
" _Ludwig Beilschmidt_ ," and that's all it took for me to hush. Daddy set his shirt, set his hair and pulled off his new leather gloves before he rested his hand on the doorknob, clutching it like it was a lifeline or something. He gave me one final warning look, stepped inside and shut the door with a slam immediately behind him. It was just me and George Washington now.  
  
I admit, I  _did_  tiptoe across and put my ear close to the door to try and hear... _anything_ , but I caught nothing except the tick tocking of the clock. Like  _that_  was any good. I went back to my post and rolled my dollar into a ball. It was creepy, sitting there with no one else around. The school looked huge to me all of a sudden without its usual cluster of kids and teachers and I wished someone was there with me besides a wrinkly paper president who made for real poor company. All I could think about was something horrible stepping out of one of the doors lining the long aisle, so I curled up on the bench under my Daddy's jacket and thought about what I would get with my dollar. I think I must've dozed off somewhere between Fanta and a Ring Pop, because all of a sudden my eyes jumped open; there had been a big thump from inside, like something had fallen down or been pushed aside. I sat up; Daddy's jacket fell to the floor and George Washington rolled away under the bench.  
  
"...do that!"  
  
"...voiding me...after..."  
  
"...got it all wrong...so arrogant of...!"  
  
That was definitely my teacher's voice, only an angry version of it. I had never heard my teacher even raise his voice before - him angry was an image that rubbed all the wrong ways against my mental picture of him. And then the words continued, soft and loud, like someone was touching the volume of a stereo of their voices, so that I heard only some of the words and lost the others.  
  
"...proud as a goddamn peacock...and..." Daddy, definitely.  
  
"...dare you....waltzing in here like..."  
  
Footsteps and then, "...ing irony, considering that..."  
  
"...I just..."

"...you're...so..."  
  
"...don't..." My teacher again and don't what?  
  
I stuck my ear to the door again. There was a funny creaky noise, I can't put my finger on it but I know I've heard it before somewhere. From inside, someone's breath had hitched up like it was running circles in their throat and I heard a gasp through the door. I thought whoever it was, was going to be sick. I wanted to knock, but Daddy's warning stuck my feet to the floor like they had been stapled there - then again, my ear _was_ still practically glued to the door. (Don't look at me like that; you would have done the same!) Anyways, it had gone really quiet, so quiet that I thought something had happened... _was_  happening. Then so softly, so secretly that I only heard it 'cause my ear was pressed tight against the door,  
  
"...your glasses..." What about them, I wondered? And someone's breath was all shaky, like they'd run a marathon. There was a ruffle, it sounded just like someone was rubbing their hands against cloth. I know this sound, 'cause my Mama once had this fuzzy sweater that I always rubbed my hands against so they got all staticy when I touched something.  
  
There was no noise from the inside of the room for ages, only that weird breathing again - so when there was another thump from inside followed by my Daddy angrily exclaiming,  
  
"...his father!" it startled me, then scared me. Gosh, was this all about  _me_? What trouble was I in? Was it...was it that time I had snuck a look over at Lily's paper 'cause I couldn't remember what 6 plus 4 was? Or not given Kim an equal turn on the swing?  
  
My teacher snapped back like a mousetrap, interrupting recollections of my sinister deeds, "And keep in mind that  _I'm_  his teacher and it would be inappro -" And it was like the words had been sliced off, snipped away like scissors cutting into the sentence, because suddenly there was nothing except a _truly weird_ sucky noise and that ruffling again. I was thoroughly bewildered and growing more anxious by the moment. At least with them fighting I could hear it, but now...now anything could be happening in there. My mind zoomed into overdrive, constructing untold horrors. I felt worried. I felt responsible. (Mostly though, I felt curious.)  
  
I unstuck my ear, gathered up my courage and knocked tentatively on the door. "D-Daddy...? Mr...Mr. Edelstein?"  
  
There was a noise like a plunger and then a gasping, "Y-yes, just a, a moment!" from my teacher. A furious collection of noise, hasty footsteps, the sound of chair-wheels and I stepped back just as the door swung open and my Daddy hurried out 'most like he'd been thrown out. I got the barest glace inside of a topsy-turvy desk and my even  _more_  topsy-turvy teacher before the door slammed shut again without even a hello.  
  
I didn't know what to think.  
  
"...Daddy?" Because it had caught my attention that my Daddy had exited the room rather differently from how he'd entered; his hair was a mess again, his long-sleeved Pink Floyd t-shirt was all wrinkly, as if someone had grabbed handfuls of it and his cheeks had all the snap and bluster of a winter apple in them. His freckles blushed even more than his face.

For the second time in under a minute, I didn't know what to think.  
  
"Daddy what -"  
  
"Get. Your mittens. On. We're leaving.  _Right now_." Daddy didn't even bother to put on his jacket; he just slung it over one arm and grabbed my hand with the other, walking so quickly he was almost blurred and my short legs struggled in vain to keep up with his long ones. I didn't say anything and I don't think Daddy would have heard me even if I had. He hurried away, finally picking me up and hauling me in his arms like a sack of potatoes when I couldn't keep up.  
  
...It was only much later at home when things had settled down (sort of), that I remembered that my dollar was still rolled up and lonesome under the bench. (And I hadn't even gotten anything from the vending machine!)

 

Looking back, I think whatever happened in the staff room during the parent-teacher meeting had worked as a magic cure for my Daddy. 'Cause the following two days he whistled cheerfully 'round the house and didn't even change the station when the hated Madonna's Like a Virgin came on the radio. I watched him in total confusion.  
  
I guess...the parent-teacher meeting was his chicken-soup of the soul? (I never  _will_  understand the inner-workings of a grown-ups mind!)

 

We were playing Springsteen's Tenth Avenue Freeze Out for the second time in a row, volume turned way up on the old stereo set in the garage that Saturday morning where Daddy was busy underneath a car that had it parts all falling out like it had puked them. I was bouncing around in the corner on the pogo stick, trying to keep time with The Boss' voice and I guess that's why I didn't hear the buzzer. I turned just in time when I caught the side door's knob turn and saw a slack-covered-leg first, then the fancy purple peacoat and finally an uncertain peek inside. That was enough.  
  
"Mr. Edelstein!" I joyfully dropped the pogo-stick and ran to meet my teacher. (When I passed the car, I'm sure I heard a thump almost like my Daddy bumped his head on the underside. Poor Daddy.)  
  
"Hello, Ludwig." I clung onto my teacher's leg like a monkey and he walked several paces awkwardly before I jumped off. Daddy had scooted out from under the puke-car and stood watching us with a red spot on his forehead like a target. "Whatcha doin' here, Mr. Edelstein?" I asked curiously. He looked completely out of place in the garage with his clothes much as my Daddy would look at the opera with his overalls. (Much later though, Father would take Daddy to the opera - Daddy pretended to dislike it when he came home, but it became a standing joke in the household when Father found his secret stash of La bohème songs. Daddy has  _never_  lived it down.)  
  
My teacher looked uncertain at my question. "My car started steaming after choir practice at the church, so I just..." He pulled out the card Daddy had given him at Halloween sheepishly. I had no idea he still had it. "Service-with-a-smile?" He smiled nervously at Daddy - I don't know _why_ he was so antsy. "Some way to start the year, hm?"  
  
I went and sat on a box of shipped car-parts while Daddy strolled up to my teacher who took a couple steps back, nearing another sick car that had come in earlier. Daddy's overalls were unhooked and the straps almost trailed on the floor like jean pigtails; Daddy never wore a shirt underneath, said it was just more to wash - and I think my teacher noticed 'cause he looked, then looked away scowling. His cheeks reddened like they'd been colored in with crayon. Between you and me, I don't he approved of shirtless Daddy's.  
  
But Daddy looked like he had just won the lottery, with that grin that stretched a mile and a half on his face.  
  
"So, any idea what the problem could be, Roderich?" Daddy ran the  _R_  like a well-oiled motor. _Rrrrrrrr,_ or as Meat Loaf would sing, all revved up and no place to go.  
  
"I don't know anything about cars, how would I know, that's your job -" My teacher snapped. His glasses were sliding down, he angrily pushed them up.  
  
"That's right-o." If Daddy's grin got any wider it was going to eat his face. "So, what brought you to this fine establishment of all places?"  
  
"You were nearest to the church, my car was smoking profusely, I didn't want to drive further, that's all -" Mr. Edelstein accused, like it was Daddy's fault the shop was so near, like it was Daddy's fault that he didn't have anywhere else to go. I had a funny feeling my teacher was just being stubborn. If he'd been younger, I would have said he was on the verge of a temper tantrum, what with his arms crossed in front and the snappy tilt to his mouth. His eyes looked so stormy, I half-expected lightning bolts to appear.  
  
"That's all...really now." It wasn't a question. "And here I was thinking you'd just dropped on over to visit Luddie...and me, of course." It was official: Daddy's grin was consuming his face. "Missed m- ah,  _us_  that much?"  
  
"Mr. Beilschmidt," My teacher scolded. Daddy raised an eyebrow and,  
  
"I thought we were on first name basis now. Roderich." I don't know how it happened, but Daddy had got real close to Mr. Edelstein all of a sudden. _Real close._ There was a sudden change in atmosphere, like the weather between them switched course. My teacher zoomed back against the car - I heard the thud of his back hit the side from where I sat, I think it must've bruised later. My Daddy's arm, the one with the bird-tattoo on the bulgy part, rested on the side of the car getting a greasy hand print on it; his other hand was real close to Mr. Edelstein's middle. I guess Daddy's hand just wanted somewhere to rest, 'cause it was tired.

...Or something?  
  
"I...we are. Gilbert. _Gilbert."_ Mr. Edelstein swallowed, all snap and stubborn gone. He was looking at my Daddy. He was looking everywhere at my Daddy. I think maybe his eyes were a little lost. He chewed his lip. Daddy made the face Mama called The Smirk and leaned in so close that I thought he was going to tilt over. Meanwhile, my eyebrows were raised so high on my forehead they were in danger of disappearing. Not that anyone noticed from my little corner. 'Cause from what I 'member, Daddy and Mr. Edelstein were doing that thing where grown-ups forget the kids are still there and watching everything. Little pitchers have big ears and all that.  
  
I'm not exactly sure _what_ I was watching though, but it seemed interesting. Like a train wreck. (Yes, I just wanted to slip in that phrase.)  
  
"You didn't mind," Daddy's voice had got low and husky like a cat's purr or sudden strep throat and I could barely catch what he was muttering, "...last time, when I got you cornered against something. What was it? The desk. Right."

Who, what, when and where?!  
  
"That is neither here nor there," Mr. Edelstein sounded out of breath too. I think there was something in the air or they had just caught the world's quickest cases of asthma even though _I_ wasn't out of breath. Childhood immunity got us kids covered better than insurance.  
  
"Oh, I think it is, Roderich," If Daddy leaned any closer, they were going to touch.  
  
Mr. Edelstein swallowed. He looked like a man with all the words squeezed out of him. Then he looked up at Daddy. The tips of their noses touched and I thought that some of Daddy's freckles would rub off on my teacher like secondhand glitter. They leaned in more -  
  
\- but at this  _key moment_ , I suddenly sneezed so violently, so unexpectedly that my legs kicked the air and it broke the spell of whatever magic had been weaving around them. Mr. Edelstein sounded like he'd been stepped on 'cause he let out a squeak like a chew toy and suddenly my Daddy found himself facing...the car. Minus my teacher who had put a great deal of distance between them in a very short time.  
  
For a second we faced off against each other, strange and mysterious like the corners of the Bermuda Triangle. I remember that I needed a tissue. Then,  
  
"I'll fix your car, Roderich." Daddy said, picking up his wrench and going back to the car that had its intestines spilling out like nothing had happened. "I'll bring in it from the lot, give it a look over. I have your number, I'll call and let you know what I found out." It sounded like a dismissal - but I wanted my teacher to stay! I pouted hard at my Daddy - I hope he felt it.  
  
"Oh. Right." Mr. Edelstein shuffled on his feet again looking twice as awkward and far less composed than usual. You could've plucked cherries from his cheeks. "I'll...I'll wait, then?"  
  
"Yup, let you know before the days out now," Daddy didn't even turn around. Mr. Edelstein finally said a hasty goodbye to me and left, his shiny shoes clicking furiously as he rushed out, probably to catch the bus home and put as much distance as he could between us. Mostly Daddy though. (I didn't cause him even half the trouble Daddy seemed to - I was a good boy.)  
  
Anyway, I had no idea what had just happened, but I was under the impression that it had been something significant. In the background, Tenth Avenue Freeze Out started playing again but Daddy didn't seem to notice.

 

By Monday, Daddy had fixed Mr. Edelstein's car. He told me my teacher had picked it up during lunch time. "It was very busy, Ludwig; you didn't miss anything," He added on a little quickly, turning back to the pile of dishes in the sink.  
  
What was there to miss?

 

February started off real drippy and slushy; snowmen oozed away, Christmas toys broke and people already began wistfully counting the days until summer with big red X's on their calendar’s days. At school, Mr. Edelstein unfogged everyone's minds when he brought out a frilly pink and red Valentine’s Day box drenched in glitter and set it up on his desk, telling us that we would be giving valentines to our classmates.  
  
Furtive glances abounded as children glanced slyly at their enemies and shyly at their crushes.  
  
"And we'll give  _everyone_  a valentine, class," Mr. Edelstein stressed looking at everyone sternly and I felt his eyes drilling into my head like screws when his glance poked me. I squirmed in my seat; I had a funny feeling he knew I didn't want to give two certain people a valentine. But there would also be a little class party afterwards while we got our valentines, with milk and cookies (hopefully snickerdoodles), so it wasn't all bad.    
  
After school the first Friday, Daddy and me went shopping for valentines at Target (of  _course_  I got Star Wars themed ones) and at home, he made me write HAPPY VALENTINES DAY FROM LUDWIG B. (I didn't bother writing down my full last name - the kids  _always_  pronounced it as Belly-smith no matter how many times I told them it wasn't.) I had to write slowly, because Daddy wanted me to practice my letters in my best handwriting. I thought that was a bit rich, coming from a person whose writing resembled a vague attempt at written communication - but I kept my complaints to myself.  
  
I think Daddy's good mood must've pulled some strings, 'cause when the 14th of February came about, not only was there a bag of valentines painfully addressed 19 times to other people on the kitchen table, but there was a fancy box of chocolates in our mailbox when I ran down to get the mail that morning.  
  
"Well Ludwig," Daddy said cheerfully as he examined the little chocolate hearts in the kitchen over eggs that were burning sadly in their pan, "how do you feel about a bouquet of roses?"  
  
I wasn't sure how I felt about the roses, but I knew how I felt about chocolate.

 

At school the next day, there was a bunch of purple roses sitting on a vase on Mr. Edelstein's desk.  I can't say I was surprised. (You shouldn't be either.)

  
Looking back, I don't know if it was the roses or the chocolate. Or even if it had been that Saturday in the garage or the parent-teacher conference or something from before. Maybe these things just... _happened_. Maybe something had finally pushed in the right direction and like a chain reaction, all the dominoes were falling down. And they were falling in place too, even though I didn't quite know it then.  
  
(Then again, I'm  _always_  the last to know things 'round here. Fault of my stars I guess.)

 

Some would say that it is always a weird thing, meeting your teacher outside of their natural habitat - the schoolroom. But I'd met Mr. Edelstein three times already in varying circumstances and every time I ran into him, I was always more eager than the last to see him. In fact, I think I almost looked forward to these unplanned run-ins.  
  
But when Daddy and I ran into Mr. Edelstein in the cereal section of Aldi's a rainy Friday evening, I couldn't tell which one of us, Daddy or me, was happier to see him. While Daddy was deciding if Fruit Loops or Lucky Charms was the less diabetes-inducing cereal, I tugged on the ripped part of his jeans and pointed towards a lanky figure busily shuffling through coupons at the other end of the aisle, basket dangling over one arm, umbrella in the other. My teacher looked up just as Daddy looked across.  
  
"Gilbert? Ludwig?" Mr. Edelstein sounded surprised. I ran across to him and Daddy followed along, pushing the cart in front of him and trying not to look too pleased. I don't think he tried too hard.  
  
"Hi Mr. Edelstein,  _hiii!"_ I skidded to a stop, bumping off him, my galoshes almost making me slip. Mr. Edelstein smiled down at me, not minding the dampness of my raincoat wetting the legs of his trousers. "Hello, Ludwig." He looked up at Daddy, setting his glasses, "Hello...Gilbert. How have you been?" His voice sounded carefully polite, but his mouth looked like there was a smile tucked in wait in the corners. I took the chance to peep inside Mr. Edelstein's basket while he was looking at Daddy. There was nothing interesting in there however; only boring stuff like that month's edition of Treble  & Clef magazine (which Father is now subscribed to), some vegetables and worst of all, liverwurst.  _Yuck._  
  
"Oh, busy with work and stuff, but pretty good. Gettin' better all the time. And you?" But Daddy didn't wait for him to respond. Leaning on the cart, one sneaker propped up on the bottom rail, Daddy said, "You know, funny thing happened on Valentine’s Day - Luddie discovered a box of chocolates in our mailbox, unaddressed." Daddy's elbows rested on the bar, his chin rested in his hands and a grin rested on his face. I thought Daddy resembled the Cheshire Cat.  
  
My teacher meanwhile, looked like he was struggling not to roll his eyes; I was wondering why my Daddy was playing stupid. "Gilbert please, you know  _full well_  that I'm the one who sent - "  
  
"- yeah, of course it was you. Who else would leave a box of imported chocolates in a mailbox, especially for someone who always thought that Kit Kats were the height of chocolate finery," Daddy chuckled up at him; my teacher hastily adjusted his glasses again. "I'm just wonderin', who was the  _actual_  recipient of the chocolates?"  
  
"What do you mean." Mr. Edelstein had suddenly become very interested with pulling a thread from his peacoat. Not that there was any thread to pull, as far as I could see.  
  
"Well," Daddy said in a voice one might use to describe what two and two was, "it's not every day that a kindergarten-aged child receives a box of chocolates filled with orange liquor now, is it?"  
  
Mr. Edelstein looked deeply uncomfortable, annoyed and at the same time, defiant. No wonder grown-ups are so tired out all the time - it must be real exhausting, feeling the pull and tug of so many things at once. I'd prob'ly need a compass just to sort myself out.  
  
"I'm guessing the chocolates were for me? I don't think Luddie could've handled them," (Which is true; I crammed three of them in my mouth when Daddy wasn't looking and felt funny.)  
  
"Likewise, the unaddressed bouquet was for me?" My teacher retorted. Daddy just smiled his reply, his eyes falling to the basket at my teacher's side. 

"You done with your shopping?" 

"Well...yes," Mr. Edelstein answered, thumbing through his coupons distractedly, "I wait for the sales to come up and work my grocery list around that. I don't see the need to pay full price." (Father, to this day, firmly believes in the merits of couponing. Daddy calls it "Roddy's Hobby.")

"Well, at the house of Beilschmidt, rainy days tend to be our shopping days." Daddy straightened up, hands on the bar again; I slyly grabbed a box of Coca Puffs off the convenient child-level placement on the nearby shelf. 

"And if there's a dry spell?"

"There's always the stomach-clocks to depend on then, in that case. Or the horrors of an empty kitchen." 

Mr. Edelstein's mouth twitched like he wanted to laugh, but he sobered up a moment later, looking into our overflowing cart. "I suppose you've dinner to make, as do I -"

"You usually eat alone?" Daddy had that tone of voice where you ask one thing, but you really want to know another.

"Dinner at Edelstein's involves a company of one," my teacher replied lightly and Daddy and I both frowned. My teacher tucked his coupons back in his pocket and shifted the basket in his arms. "I won't keep you then," he said softly. I saw there was a goodbye waiting on his lips, but before it made an appearance, Daddy spoke up.

"Roderich, do you want to have dinner with us?" I stopped trying to sneak Coca Puffs into the cart and looked up at Daddy in surprise. "Nothing fancy," Daddy quickly said when my teacher didn't reply, "Just whatever there is to whip up that takes the least time and is...moderately healthy." 

" _And_ ed-i-ble," I piped up, remembering other disastrous attempts at Daddy's "quick fixes." Daddy just told me to hush under his breath. Grown-ups,  _sheesh._

For a moment my teacher hesitated and for a moment I thought he'd say no. But then he broke out into a sudden smile, a smile wider than I'd  _ever_  seen on his face and he said, "Yes, yes I'd like that." And you know, between you and me, it almost sounded like he'd been waiting to say that for a long time. But who can say for sure?

So while I whooped around them, excited at having Mr. Edelstein over at our house, I almost missed when Daddy said lowly, looking hard at my teacher, "Yeah. So would I."

Mr. Edelstein flushed apple-red.

Back at home, while Daddy and I were putting everything in place and wondering what to make, we heard Mr. Edelstein complain from the living room where he had been deposited for the time being, that for some reason, his pants now smelled of strawberries.  
  
Daddy smiled.

 

That's how my teacher ended up having dinner at our house.   
  
It was the first time.  
  
It wouldn't be the last.

 

A week passed from then and I was looking through the new postcards Mama had sent me that had arrived that morning. I saw that there was a postcard for Daddy too, with a yellow chick on it.  
  
"Daddy," I said handing him the card, "Mama's sent you something too!" Daddy raised an eyebrow over his morning coffee and flipped the card over to see what it said. Rolling his eyes, he tossed the card back down on the table, finishing his coffee in one irritated gulp.   
  
"Your Mama will be the death of me, Luddie," and he got up, mumbling as he went for his morning shave, leaving his mug in the sink. After he left, I turned the card over. But all it said was,

 

**_I TOLD YOU SO~_ **

  
with a kissy lips sticker at the end of the sentence.  
  
I read it over again, but still couldn't make heads nor tails out of that line. It might as well have been written in a foreign language for all the sense it made to me.   
  
Grownups are  _so_  weird.

 

At school, Mr. Edelstein and Daddy went back to their regular quick-chats at the gates before school started and it seemed like everything had gone back to how things were. That wasn't really true though. Because like a video game, Daddy and my teacher were about to level up. 

To put it in a grown-up context: they were about to take the next step in their relationship.

 

People say March comes in like a lamb and exists like a lion. And I think they're right, because while nothing of notable interest happened in the first half, near the end of the month, something  _very_  notable happened.  
  
(Later on, Father would mention one evening as we went over C sharp major scales one rainy evening, that in a relationship with two stubborn people, someone had to push.)  
  
In this case, the person had been Mr. Edelstein.  
  
The push was that my teacher had asked Daddy out on a date, catching up to me and Daddy just as we were about to leave the annual book fair where, (if you ask me), we'd spent a  _little too long_  at my teacher's booth.  
  
And Daddy; one hand balancing books like The Very Hungry Caterpillar and The Giving Tree, the other hand holding mine - had said yes.

(Of course  _I_  wasn't invited - these sorts of things are off limits to kids. And for good reason too, I think;  _I_  don't think many people my age are much interested in gross romantic-y stuff.)

 

...Despite saying that however, there was a general curiosity in the schoolyard regarding the whole "dating scene", which seemed to be a favorite pastime of our older counterparts. Some of the kids had older siblings and, as the ever-important Prom season was upon us, High School gossip had floated its way down to our school. (For instance, my class had become aware there was a rumor that one of Ivan's older sisters had not been able to get a date, because everyone was frightened of her. Of course, no one really wanted to ask Ivan about this, as everyone was scared of him too.)

"Would you wanna have a date one day?" Kiku asked me as we shared a tire swing during recess. 

I twisted the rope so the swing could twirl, " _No._  'Cause dating is gross and girls are gross." I replied as if that settled the matter. 

"Not  _all_  girls," and I wanted to roll my eyes; Kiku kept getting crushes on cartoon - excuse me -  _anime_  girls. It was  _so weird._  

"My Papa says that dating is a real important part of a 'lationship," Alfred had invited himself over into our conversation, dangling off the monkey bars nearby. He didn't seem to notice or care that we didn't want him around.

"And," Alfred added on seriously, "it's one of the few things that Dad a-grees with him on, even though he says that Papa is a sap 'cause he's a French Frog." He turned upside down and his glasses flew off somewhere. He was forced to jump down and look for them.

Kiku looked confused, "Doesn't he have a mommy?" Kiku whispered to me as we watched Alfred grope blindly in the wood chips for his glasses before tearfully running off to get Mr. Edelstein to help him. 

I shrugged, "He's got a Papa and a Dad instead I guess." Somehow…it didn't really strike me as weird. I mean, why would it be?

"Oh," Kiku said. I let him take over turning the rope from me and I closed my eyes as our tire swirled round and round, making the playground a blur around us and the sky a dizzy mass of blue above us.

I thought, as we slowly came to a stop, that for all the time I had spent pushing Alfred away from me, he had always been closer than I thought.

Funny, how things turn out sometimes.

 

Kiku had invited me to spend the night over at his house the last Saturday in March; we were going to stay up late playing Mario Kart, telling each other scary stories and eating too much popcorn - needless to say, it was all that had occupied my thoughts during that whole entire week. Daddy on the other hand, had been getting more jittery by the day, because Saturday was his date with Mr. Edelstein. 

(Mama had left a message on our answering machine wishing Daddy luck, telling him to behave himself and not be a _bad-boy._ Daddy had deleted the message super-fast, with a face so red that even his  _freckles_  looked like they were on fire.)

So while I waited for Kiku's mom to come and pick me up that Saturday evening, I sat on Daddy's bed and watched him fuss over his hair at the dresser. He'd come home earlier than usual from the garage and spent a long,  _long_  time in the shower afterwards (the bathroom was still steamy). I don't think I'd ever seen my Daddy so squeaky clean; he looked like he'd been buffed shiny like a new penny. He shaved carefully, then drenched himself in cologne and when I sniffed him, he smelled spicy - like a nicely seasoned pinecone in my opinion.   
  
Mr. Edelstein was coming to pick him up a while from now at seven and they were going to go out to some fancy restaurant with an unpronounceable name (Daddy said it was  _for-in_  or something) and then out for drinks at the local bar while they listened to live music.  
  
"That's it?" I asked, while Daddy tried to set his hair for what was probably the hundredth time. I had been expecting...more.  
  
"Sure is, kiddo. Doesn't that sound fun?"  
  
"Um, I guess." I lied. I couldn't see what was so interesting at having reserved seats at a restaurant where the food was in another language and then drinking stuff that would get you what Mama called a "hangover" and what Daddy called a word I wasn't allowed to say. Then again, grown-ups have such acquired tastes that I think it would be best to always take their choices with a pinch of salt. Well, between you and me - if  _I_  ever went on a date, I'd much rather go out to the park or play video games and stick to food my eyes and tummy could understand. (That wasn't going to happen though, as girls were gross and I didn't think much of them as I've mentioned before.)  
  
"So Luddie," Daddy asked, modeling out in the hallway a few minutes later like he was on the cover of USA Men Today, "How does your old man look?"  
  
I surveyed him critically. He had put on his tan sports coat with a shirt so ironed it looked stiff. He wore jeans instead of the matching slacks and he had his red Converse with a kerchief 'round his neck. He had tried to tame his hair with gel, but it still stuck up like, all snowed and flurried like it usually did. In my opinion, he looked like he could be on the cover of a classic rock album.  
  
"I think you look cool, like a rock star," I said, which Daddy found outrageously funny.  
  
The crunch of gravel outside alerted us to the Honda's van on the driveway and I grabbed my overnight bag along with Mr. Sharky. Daddy hugged me goodbye and before I let go, I whispered seriously to him, "Are you gonna kiss goodnight?"  
  
Daddy seemed flabbergasted and he held me at bay. "Ludwig! Where did you pick _that_ up from?!"  
  
I wiggled out of his arms, shrugging as I turned the knob of the front door, "From the movies  _of course._  Bye Daddy!"  I ran out to the Honda's van, wondering why he had seemed so surprised. Sure, kissing was _gross_ but...didn't Daddy know  _anything_  'bout Hollywood?

 

(When I got back home early Sunday morning, Daddy caught me in the doorway and swung me around in his arms and I knew, Hollywood or not - that he'd had a real good time and there would be more of them to come.)

 

And that's how change came to the Beilschmidt household. It had started when March was dying and it bloomed fully when April began, just like spring.

 

They say that April showers bring May flowers, but I think the month might have a hand in bringing two people together as well.

'Cause April's the date when Daddy and Mr. Edelstein got together; really _got together_ \- and it was like realizing that you'd turned onto a fresh, clear street from the old, traffic filled one; that you'd finally started reading the story after being stuck too long on the title page. That after fumbling around in a dim room, you'd found the switch and pulled it on and you looked around, discovering that everything was bright and new and shiny and there had been nothing to be afraid of.

And just like that - Mr. Edelstein became a part of us; a part of me...a part of Daddy. And really; once you're part of something you can't really be... _not_ a part of it anymore. (I guess that's how Mr. Edelstein went from being my teacher to being...well, Father.)

Anyway, it's the little things I recall more than the big things in those early days; it's the little moments that have a brighter color in the film of my memory, that play more often in the private movies of my mind.

Daddy had grown up hearing 'bout the Red Baron from his grandpa who had come all the way from Germany and as a result, always had a fascination with planes. (Sometimes Father will roll his eyes and say that Daddy missed his calling life - he should have been a pilot during some war to which Daddy will retort that he'd want Father to pen a ballad of his brave, brilliant deeds, because _of course_ a pilot like him would _only_ be capable of doing _brave_ and _brilliant_ things. Father usually ignored Daddy after this.)

So one day during Spring Break, Daddy dragged me and Mr. Edelstein along to the local Aviation Museum of Wichita where we would spend the next several hours surrounded by planes of the past and all the histories they flew on their wings long after their pilots had left their skies. While I zoomed through the museum pretending I was on some dangerous mission, Daddy and Mr. Edelstein walked side by side, discussing the stories and occasionally bickering over which plane was the best. And if you were to ask me when Daddy first reached out for my teacher's hand, I wouldn't be able to say - but I can tell you that Mr. Edelstein didn't let go, not even when Daddy pulled him along, almost more excited than a grown-up should be to see the fighter jets.

We, Daddy and I, had come over to my teacher's house 'cause the fair had come to our town, a week or so later. My teacher's neighborhood looked anything but scary, as opposed to when I got lost in it on Halloween. Not only that, but it wasn't as far and away as I had thought all that time ago, nor as big as it had appeared to me back then. I thought it was 'cause it was daytime, but Daddy just said it was because I was older. (That's the downside of growing up; the world gets smaller as you get bigger.)

But while we were having snacks my teacher had whipped up, the weather had decided it wanted to change course and it blew all our fair-plans away by becoming all stormy and generally unpleasant to deal with. We were all put off, that is, until Mr. Edelstein seated himself at his old keyboard and kept us entertained for a while, playing songs we asked him to.

When he got dead tired of Daddy's nonstop requests for classic rock renditions, he bossily made Daddy take a seat next to him on the bench and showed him how to play. Or at least _tried_ to - Daddy's wasn't very musically inclined. (Still isn't.) I laughed and laughed watching Daddy put his fingers on all the wrong keys and laughed harder when my teacher claimed that Daddy was the worst student he'd ever had. My teacher, exasperated, finally ended up putting his hands on Daddy's to guide him and I pretended that I had been watching TV and hadn't noticed when Daddy leaned over and smooched my teacher's neck, making him eep. (Which was kinda gross, but you know how grown-ups are.)

Sometimes however, there were planned excursions, planned meetings, dates _\- only_ between my Daddy and him; they went out wherever it was grown-ups go when they want to be alone and all gushy with each other.

Other times, they just met on the spur of the moment - like that time when Daddy told me he had surprised Mr. Edelstein by picking him up from school and taking him out for lunch during break. Or when Mr. Edelstein mentioned turning up at the garage with a bunch of flowers that made Daddy sneeze. (They'd spent the next half-hour picking up a bunch of screws Daddy had dropped.)

During this time, Mr. Edelstein became our most frequent and welcomed visitor and Daddy and I grew so familiar with my teacher's apartment that it almost felt like a second home. Daddy used to say that an extra dose of Mr. Edelstein in his day was the easiest to swallow. (Daddy still sometimes jokes that Father goes down easy; Father always tells him to hush when he says this. I don't get it.)

So what else can I say other than my Daddy and Mr. Edelstein had happened slowly and then all at once - and when they were together, it was like they had always been.

Maybe, in a way - they had.

 

Some people say that Friday the 13th is unlucky; I don't know much about that, since I never paid much attention to my Fridays other than to acknowledge that the weekend was here. (Staying up late, Saturday morning cartoons and all that.)

But I remember that certain Friday in May; not because it was the 13th, but because that was the first time Mr. Edelstein spent the night at our house. (Later on, I would ask Father and Daddy both about this impromptu sleepover - but I never got much of a reply for some reason.)

Anyway...

After dinner one Friday in the middle of May (my teacher had cooked - it was  _really yummy_ ); Mr. Edelstein, Daddy and me sat in the living room, flicking through the channels on the TV. It was almost ten o'clock and I was real sleepy and trying not to show it. My teacher and Daddy sat next to each other on the couch in the dark and I remember that for some reason, Daddy kept rising from his seat to peek over my way. He did this so often that he looked like he was trying to sit on a porcupine.

I was curled up on the papasan, snug under my favorite Yoda throw. Daddy meanwhile, had accomplished what he'd been trying to do ever since he'd been seated on the couch; he'd finally managed to inch his arm around my teacher and pull him against himself. I privately wondered  _why_ ; I mean, there were cushions right there and in all honesty, Mr. Edelstein looked too bony for comfort. But there they were anyways; the TV flickering pictures against my teacher's glasses and the glare from the screen turning Daddy's hair snow white. Daddy's legs were resting on the coffee table and Mr. Edelstein's were tucked somewhere to his side and they managed to look comfortable despite all the angles. 

Daddy finally switched to the most boring channel ever (CNN) and lowered the volume, looking first at the clock then my way. "Ludwig, don't you think it's time for bed?" He said this in a voice that stated it was time for bed regardless of whether I thought so or not. There was no compromise in that voice. 

" _But -"_  I began, but a yawn threatened to overwhelm me, so I ended up being betrayed by my own body.

Daddy got up, easing himself away from Mr. Edelstein. "There's your answer; come on kiddo, I'll tuck you in." I rolled off the papasan, dragging my Yoda throw with me like a cloak. 

"Are you going home now, Mr. Edelstein?" I asked, rubbing my eyes sleepily. 

"No,” Daddy firmly answered for him, "He's going to stay and have some coffee." (My teacher looked like his mind was on other things, none of which included coffee.) But he just got up from the couch as well, a little red across the cheeks and said, "…Yes. I'll go ahead and make some; extra cinnamon, correct?"   
  
"You know me too well," Daddy grinned at him all sharp; I was reminded of the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood for some reason.

"Goodnight, Ludwig. Sleep tight." My teacher smiled at me, before making his way to the kitchen. I heard the clink of mugs and the pot being filled with water as I made my way to the bathroom and slipped into my footsie pajamas. Daddy watched me while I brushed my teeth to make sure all the teeth got bristly attention and I didn't swallow too much toothpaste and then he reminded me to wash behind my ears.   
  
In my bedroom, Daddy drew the covers over me and Mr. Sharky and turned on my fishy-nightlight; it was like sleeping in an aquarium.

"Is Mr. Edelstein going home soon?" I asked sleepily, curling up under the covers.

For a long, long time Daddy stayed quiet, standing at the end of my bed. "I don't know," Daddy whispered mysteriously but I was too tired to give that much thought and I barely felt his kiss on my forehead before I fell asleep.

 

…In the middle of my dreams that night, I thought I heard a thump from my Daddy's room, like his drawer being closed. I half-way opened my eyes to Mr. Sharky unfairly hogging my pillow and pitch-blackness; Daddy must've already turned off my nightlight. Sleep didn't like being interrupted however and it pushed down on me like a heavy hand, back against the pillow. But I was certain, as dreams took over again and my eyes closed to the night - that I heard something like a muffled sigh and Daddy's breathy  _shuush..._

 

I heard voices the next morning from my bedroom and I thought for a moment, that Daddy was carrying on a conversation with himself.   
  
But when I went to the kitchen after scrubbing some of the sleep from my face, I was surprised to see  _Mr. Edelstein_  was there and cooking at our stove. If that wasn't odd enough, he was wearing my Daddy's old blue pajamas which were far too big for him; he looked like he was drowning in green-checks. I guess he was feeling cold, because the collar was buttoned upwards, covering his neck, like his neck had a reason to hide. And I looked at him and he looked at me; we exchanged good-mornings and that was that. At the table, Daddy was already seated with his favorite MECH Magazine and a rather satisfied smile.  
  
…I guess the car articles had been good reading that morning?  
  
Mr. Edelstein had breakfast with us that day - he made raspberry pancakes with dark-chocolate syrup oozing out of them and fresh berries on top; Daddy and I couldn't have enough, Mr. Edelstein was an _awesome_ cook. (Still is, you know. Daddy on the other hand remains pretty horrible - some things  _never change_.) But I had to know something and I had to know it at once. So I swallowed my pancake down with my milk and,  
  
"Mr. Edelstein, why'd you spend the night last night?"  
  
Mr. Edelstein made a funny face and sputtered like a bad engine when he tried to answer me; his words just couldn't seem to get a proper start. His face looked like a bad sunburn.  
  
But Daddy?  
  
Daddy looked like a smile.

 

I guess you wanna know if that was when Mr. Edelstein moved in with us? Well, no. No it wasn't. That happened later on. But you know something?  
  
From that day on, Mr. Edelstein 'most always had breakfast at our house every school day. When we grew to miss him too much on the weekends, then it was decided that he'd better move in.  
  
So he did.

 

There's really not much more to say; my story is almost at its end, but like any good narrator, I'm going to leave you with an epilogue.

 

I graduated in June.  
  
Mama had sent her love from faraway Kansas State where she was doing a summer internship, along with some postcards and a striped bowtie that I wore with my itchy suit under my cap and gown.

We had the ceremony in the auditorium which smelled like Pine Sol and was so shiny that it burned everyone's eyes. People received their diplomas in backwards order from fifth grade down to kindergarten from their own teacher and according to their surnames. Though we were the last class on stage, I was one of the first kids in my class to receive my diploma. I walked across the stage, being careful not to trip on my gown like someone before me did and Mr. Edelstein handed me my rolled up paper with a handshake and then a hug. In the crowd, I heard the furious clicking of a camera from the second row and I knew Daddy had captured that moment forever. (He really did - it's in a yellow frame on his desk in the bedroom, next to one of Mama in a green sundress and Father busily writing music at the piano.)  
  
There was soda and juice and cake and cookies and all the other heart-attack things waiting outside on a frilly long table during the re-cep-tion. It was hot with all the ferocity of summer and kids had already ripped off their robes and spilled lemonade down their fronts; the adults grew in lanky bunches dotted around the grass and I overheard one mom from the fifth grade class crying to another because her daughter was "growing up so fast" and "going to middle school" that fall. You know how  _silly_  parents get on these occasions.  
  
Two tall grown-ups, Alfred (and Matthew's) parents were talking to my Daddy; Mr. Edelstein was still busy with another set somewhere else. The one with the eyebrows was shaking his head over the iced tea, complaining that it  _wasn't proper tea_  and Mr. Bonnefy, the  _same_  Mr. Bonnefy who taught at Mama's community college of course, was discussing something that sounded really boring to me (politics) when I came up to them with cake in one hand and frosting on the other. Daddy ruffled my hair, but it was graduation so I let it slide.  
  
"So Ludwig," Mr. Bonnefy questioned teasingly, "now that you're a graduate, any thoughts on what you would like to be when you grow up?"  
  
I swallowed my mouthful of carrot cake and thought for a couple of seconds before answering seriously, "I think sir, I'd like to be a teacher maybe." Mr. Bonnefy and Mr. Eyebrows both laughed and thought this was funny, but Daddy shared a secret wink just between the two of us and I knew he understood.  
  
So it was after six o' clock when we finally left; Daddy surprised me and said we were going out to dinner with Mr. Edelstein and as it was my day, I got to choose where we would eat. Of  _course_  I said Pizza Hut. Daddy just rolled his eyes with a sigh that denounced my tastes.  
  
As we walked to the pickup, Daddy held my left hand and Mr. Edelstein held my right and I held onto both of them and laughed when they swung me up between them, the sun bright in my eyes and warm on my skin. I had my diploma in my pocket and a long summer stretched out before me filled with endless possibilities one of which involved learning to actually ride a two-wheeler bike. (My scraped elbows and knees from previous efforts had not daunted me.)  
  
But Daddy and Mr. Edelstein just looked at each other over my head and smiled, smiled so broad and deep and wide that if their smiles were a swimming pool, you'd never reach the end of it or catch the bottom with your toes. And I wish I could tell you what that felt like, floating in their smiles like that - but you know, there are some things out there that just can't be described with the limitations of letters or the feeble construction of words; they can only be felt by the heart and kept warm in its beats.  
  
And it was summer; warm, glorious summer...

 

I'm going to fifth grade at Acorn Academy this September.  
  
Mama is in town during this week, as she is currently on summer vacation from graduate school and today we went to meet my new teacher. (Mr. Roma Vargas; he's the grandfather of the twin Vargas siblings who just moved in next door to Daddy, Father and me. I anticipate a friendship from the way two pairs of brown eyes and a lot of burnt freckles peeked at me from over the fence yesterday.)  
  
While Mama stayed and chatted with Mr. Vargas the way adults tend to do, I asked to be excused. I slipped out the door and past several others. Fifth grade is the last grade on the second floor. Come next year, I'm not going to be at Acorn Academy anymore - I'll be attending Mulberry Middle, as a sixth grader. I'm going to miss coming here like I have all these years; it’ll be like saying goodbye to a friend you won’t be seeing every day anymore, or your favorite shirt that you’ve outgrown all of a sudden. But that's all a part of growing up, I suppose. Give and take, give and take. These are the tides of our lives.  
  
But at the moment, I’m walking to the room that started it all. I turn the corner and hurry down the aisle towards the kindergarten rooms. It is quiet here, the bustle of school days haven't touched this place yet; forgotten pencils, crumpled homework and childhood laughter have yet to permeate these halls. The school is on vacation, the corridors sleep and summer hangs at the top of the warm, endless days.  
  
The kindergarten already finished its Meet n' Greet several hours ago, so there is no one there to see me when I face the door. Room 2, Class B. Like I'd forget.  
  
I turn the handle and step inside.  
  
Some, adults I suppose, would say that perspective changes things; that looking in from a different angle changes our views, that time plays with our way of seeing things. But I'd spent a whole nine months here, Monday to Friday and the room is still as much the same as it ever was. The tables and chairs are still set in in a rectangle with one side open; the alphabets in English and Spanish are displayed on a poster; all the hooks for our coats and backpacks are still in the colors of the rainbow. And yes, there is  _still_  that section in the right most corner by the floor where someone stuck a tiny button on the wall. I stepped back, taking it all in like a seasoned fourth-going-on-fifth-grader would.  
  
When the first Monday of September rolls by, the kids will all be collected here like little boxes of potential waiting to be unwrapped. Some I'm sure, will be diligent like Kiku or naughty like Alfred (though even he's toned down some - proof that miracles do happen). Others might be like Polly Pocket-obsessed-Kim, school creep Ivan, or painfully shy like Raivis. Some, I think with some surprise, might even be like me.  
  
The teacher though, will still be the same. A few years older, glasses a little stronger, blazer a little more worn down. To the other kids, he'll still be Mr. Edelstein.  
  
To me, he's now Father.  
  
And to Daddy? Well, I muse as I step back outside, looking one last time at a classroom I’ll never be a part of again, but that has given me something far more lasting in turn...  
  
...I think to Daddy he's everything and then some.  
  
I close the door.

 

Sometimes I remember that Father's real name is Roderich Edelstein and that he was my teacher for a year. And that he's not  _really_  my real father. No, my real father is Daddy.  
  
You see, my family has been built by a lot of different people, all of different shapes who have their own place to be in my life. There's a Mama, there's a Daddy; there's a Father and there's a me. It might sound weird, people might not agree.  
  
But it works for us and that's enough for me.  
  
…And it's real nice, you know - when you figure out the shapes of things. Nicer still when they all fit together.  
  
Like a completed puzzle.  
  
Like family.


End file.
